


after sunset (the sun always rises)

by aerixlee



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fire Lord Zuko, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, For the most part at least, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Compliant with Avatar Comics, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Politics, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, again it's because fire siblings, because the comics did not do azula justice and i'm not over it, because they're the fire siblings obviously, but none of it is intentional, i accidentally made myself a maiko shipper with this fic, like so many assassination attempts, seriously zuko cannot catch a break, yeah i got really really into the politics of post-war atla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 121,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerixlee/pseuds/aerixlee
Summary: “Mother always liked you better,” she says quietly. She looks away from Zuko, lip beginning to curl again. “No wonder you’re so determined to believe that she’s alive.”“Mother loved you, too,” Zuko says, and even he knows how weak that sounds. Azula throws her head back and laughs, but it comes out all wrong and hoarse and raw as though she’s strained her throat.“Oh, Zuzu.” Azula walks forward, abruptly throwing her hands up against the bars of the cell. Zuko refuses to flinch as she leans forward. “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long if you still believe that.”---Post-canon rewrite intended to replace the comics. Explores Azula's redemption arc and Zuko's struggles (and successes) as the Fire Lord. Featuring politics, borderline international crises, Zuko and Azula desperately needing to learn basic self care, and too many assassination attempts to be healthy.
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & Ozai (Avatar), Azula & The Gaang (Avatar), Azula & Ursa (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 503
Kudos: 328





	1. the aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This.... this is going to be a long one. Strap in, folks. This is going to be a really long, really wild ride.  
> The inspiration for this fic was literally just me being annoyed with how Azula's character was handled in the comics (especially Smoke and Shadow because... I'm so sorry, but literally what was that). I'm super excited to get started on this, and I really hope you all enjoy as much as I've enjoyed writing it so far!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula, during and immediately after the Agni Kai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 1/17/2021: uhhhh so I'm rereading this? And the first 3 or 4 chapters are definitely not my best work. Just stick around - I promise it gets a lot better lmao. I'm definitely going to come back and rewrite the beginning of this fic at some point.
> 
> \---
> 
> The first chapter is pretty short and is told from Azula's perspective. It's... a lot. There's nothing graphic, but it's Azula during and immediately after the Agni Kai, which should really tell you everything you need to know.

Azula watches her brother dive in front of the cold lightning meant for the Water Tribe peasant and feels something deep within her chest  _ snap _ .

She doesn’t remember laughing, but someone is, and it’s high-pitched and insane and wild and uncontrolled, and it certainly isn’t the Water Tribe girl, because Zuko is on the ground, spasms rocking his curled up form, and the damn peasant is trying to get to him. To heal him, no doubt, and then kill Azula.

So she sends a bolt of lightning at her again, and the girl runs. Azula keeps laughing, and she knows that she’s the one laughing for certain, this time, because her throat feels raw and overused and hoarse. But what else can she do but laugh? She laughs as the peasant flees her lightning, laughs as she approaches her, cornering her against the wall, and then, all of a sudden, there’s water everywhere, and she can’t laugh anymore.

It’s cold. So cold.

There are chains around her wrists, and Azula wants to firebend at the peasant, but she can’t exactly do that in the water. Her lungs are getting painfully tight, though, and faintly, in the back of her head, she wonders if this is how she’ll die. A laugh stuck in her throat, air trapped in her lungs, water all around her.

Drowning is the most dishonorable way to die for a firebender. Azula wonders if the Water Tribe peasant knows this. She must; no doubt Mother must’ve told her, though she still can’t figure out how, exactly. Perhaps Zuko told her… No, no, he’s too soft for that. It must’ve been Mother.

(Azula doesn’t want to think about the fact that she dismisses the thought so quickly because maybe she doesn’t want Zuko to be that cruel, especially to her.)

There’s a cool, hard rush, and suddenly the water is gone, and Azula is chained to the metal grates below her knees, gasping for air. The Water Tribe girl rushes off to Zuko’s side.

Azula struggles as hard as she can, but her limbs are rendered useless with the metal chains. Panic begins to grip her as the severity of her predicament begins to settle in. She’s trapped here, soaked in ice cold water, with what has to be the most spirits-damned, stupid haircut that anyone has ever had, black strands clinging to her pale skin. And the stupidest, most insane thought occurs to her as she realizes how much lighter her skin is in comparison to Zuko’s, and she wonders if he realizes it, too. They both used to be so pale, being raised as royalty, their skin a matching milky white, almost porcelain. Now, his skin has a golden hue to it, like Agni himself had embraced him.  


Combined with his scar, Azula no longer looks like him in the way that she used to. Or, rather, Zuko no longer looks like her.

(They both changed so much, so fast, but who changed more?)

Azula writhes against the chains. The metal digs cuts into her wrists, her arms, but she doesn’t even notice. Her throat aches as if she’s swallowed gravel, and her breathing feels rough, and it’s too fast, too much; her lungs can’t keep up with how quickly her chest heaves up and down, and there’s a high pitched noise somewhere far away, like someone’s screaming, but in the corner of her blurred vision, as her head whips around, she can see Zuko and that peasant standing in front of her, watching, and neither of them have their mouths open, so where is that accursed screaming coming from, and the water is gone, so why can’t she  _ breathe? _

The screams turn to sobs, heaving and hiccuping and full of anguish, and it’s only then that Azula realizes that it’s coming from her. Her struggling only becomes more and more desperate as she fights to get out of the chains, out of her body, out of her  _ head _ , and hot tears roll down her cheeks as she struggles and fights and breathes fire, blue fire, and Father had always been so proud of her blue fire; he’d been there when Mother liked Zuko better, and even  _ Iroh _ liked Zuko better. And Zuko and that peasant are watching her, looking at her with something dangerously close to  _ pity _ in their eyes, but it can’t be pity; no one pities  _ Azula _ , especially not Zuko; Azula was never the weak one, but she’s the one crying, not Zuko, and  _ why do they keep staring at her? _

Azula screams, and everything goes dark.

\---

They’re going to put her in a cell.

Azula wakes up halfway down the hall as they’re dragging her there, and she’s mildly proud of how quickly she takes in the situation. There are two guards on either side of her, neither paying very close attention to her, and she thinks she can sense two somewhere up ahead.

Their first mistake was assuming that Azula would be going down without a fight. She’s surprised that Mother didn’t warn them about that.

Without a moment of hesitation, she breathes fire on the guard to her left, searing the hand he has on her shoulder and causing him to flinch back against the wall, and jabs her fingers into the throat of the other guard as hard as she can. He chokes on his own breath, and she makes a run for it.

As far as she can, anyways.

She doesn’t recognize this building, but she’s pretty sure that she knows where it is. It’s not like she made a habit of visiting the cells by the palace; the prisoners inside tended to be boring political people too dangerous to keep too far away from home. Nothing like that Kyoshi warrior Azula spent some time getting acquainted with. _She_ had some interesting stories.

And then Azula's leg buckles under her.

Great. She’s not even injured, as far as she can tell, so the only reasonable explanation is that her leg is asleep. Fire Princess Azula, making a run for it in a prison with a leg suffering from a lack of blood flow. And yes; she knows that she isn’t the Fire Lord. She may be delirious and perhaps insane, but she isn’t stupid. Azula is many things, but she is not an idiot, though the same cannot be said about darling Zuzu.

It takes her a moment to realize that she’s laughing again. She’s leaning heavily against the wall for support, and as she turns around, she realizes that there are at least five guards standing there, watching her with a mixture of horror and fear on their faces. It’s a familiar, comforting sight, and it only causes her laughter to grow louder, wilder. She takes a step towards them. One of the guards shifts into a firebending stance.

“Princess Azula,” he says, and Azula raises an eyebrow.

“Am I really still a princess after all of that?” she asks, and it’s mostly to herself. Her voice cracks slightly towards the end from how hoarse it is, but she ignores it. “You must truly be out of your mind.”

_ No more than you are, _ a voice that sounds annoyingly like Mother says in the back of her head. Azula scowls.

She can tell that she’s thrown them off with her comment, however, and she takes advantage of their momentary hesitation. She lunges forward, blazing fire erupting at her fingertips, and whips an arc of flames across the hallway. The guards jump back in alarm, and she purposefully allows a lick of fire to singe the end of the leading guard’s shirt. She smirks at his expression.

She takes down the five guards easily despite her less than favorable condition, because even at her lowest, she is still more talented than anyone else she knows, and she runs for what she thinks is the exit. Her feet pound against the floor, and her head is spinning, but she keeps running. Keeps running, keeps running, keeps running--

And then someone tackles her from behind. Someone much heavier, much stronger, and much bigger.

She gasps as she hits the floor, eyes widening and stomach seizing as her chest smacks stone, chin following suit. There are rough hands pinning her wrists to her back, then a pair of cuffs are slipped over her wrists, chaining them together. She’s hauled to her feet unceremoniously.

“Take her to the cell,” says the guard holding her, and she’s shoved forward by the same rough hand. “The Fire Lord will deal with her, soon.”

The Fire Lord. It can’t be Father; they would be calling him the Phoenix King if that were the case. And he certainly wouldn’t leave his daughter, his  _ heir _ , in a prison cell like this. It’s either Iroh or Zuko, then, meaning that…

That Father failed to defeat the Avatar.  


Father  _ failed. _

But Father doesn’t fail. He’s  _ Father _ , he’s  _ Ozai _ . He’s not-- he’s not a failure. Azula isn’t a failure, either, but then why is she here? Why is he…

Where is he?

Azula starts kicking and screaming, attempting to escape the firm grip the guards have on her, but these guards are wearing metal armor, so her flames and fists do more damage on her than they do on the guards. She is tossed into a cold stone cell with metal bars, and her body hits the ground with a sickening thud. She throws herself against the bars as the metal door slams shut behind the guards, screaming, pressing herself forward and whipping flame after flame against the bars, against the walls of the room, as though she could melt through the foundation of the building itself, but it’s no use.

It’s no use.

She keeps screaming, screaming as if someone can hear her. She’s certain that they can; the sound of her voice ricocheting back at her from against the walls is painful enough that there is no way it isn’t making it through the door, but no one comes. They can hear her, she knows, but no one is listening.

She wants to put words into her screams. Wants to demand that they listen to her, that they answer her, that they tell her what is happening, what they plan on doing with her, who the Fire Lord is, where her father is. If he’s still alive. Logically, he shouldn’t be, but the Avatar is a pacifist and a child and weak despite all of the power he holds, so she wouldn’t be surprised if he were too cowardly to go through with killing him.

_ Father will be so disappointed when he finds out you failed. _

Disappointed… disappointed like he was with  _ Zuko _ . He has never been disappointed in Azula before, so she doesn’t know what to expect. He will make an effort to regain power, she knows that for certain, and whether that takes the form in those still devoted to him in the Fire Nation or in something else, Azula will be by his side as his loyal daughter.

But, for now, she keeps screaming.

(And, quietly, she prays that someone listens.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) (@aerixlee) for updates <3 (there's nothing on there yet, but there will be! soon! once i get over posting anxiety!)


	2. dining rooms & delegates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko gets peer-pressured into eating and avoiding his responsibilities because he works too hard.  
> Or,  
> Food and politics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a _much _lighter (and much longer) chapter than the previous one was, and it was really fun to write the Gaang's interactions after being inside of Azula's head for so long. There's quite a bit of Maiko in here, by the way, since they're canonically a couple at this point, and even though I don't really ship anyone in the show, I've been having so much fun writing scenes with them?__
> 
> _  
> _(By the way, there's also Kataang and Sukka throughout the fic, at least from what I have planned so far, but neither are very prominently featured and therefore aren't tagged)_  
> _
> 
> _  
> _Anyways. One more chapter with the Gaang before Azula!  
> __

_Three weeks later_

“So you’re going to--”

“Yes.”

“And she’s--”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure that--”

Zuko groans, pinching the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. “ _Yes_ , Sokka. Spirits. How many times do I have to say it before you understand?”

They’re sitting around the table in the smallest of the dining rooms. It’s still obscenely large for two twelve year olds and four teenagers, but no one had seemed to think Zuko was being serious when he asked if there was a smaller room the six of them could eat in for breakfast. One would think they would, considering that he’s the Fire Lord, but maybe being sixteen (almost seventeen) years old had something to do with it.

Regardless, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. Suki, already finished eating, is letting Toph feel one of the golden fans she carries as a weapon. Aang, sitting across from the two of them, is waterbending his soup into Momo’s opened mouth, a huge smile on his face. Katara sits beside him, watching the exchange between Zuko and Sokka with raised eyebrows and a vaguely amused expression.

And Sokka is exactly the problem here.

It’s not that Zuko isn’t grateful for his friends being here, because he is. He really, really is, because they didn’t have to stay after the coronation, but they did. It’s likely going to be the last time that the six of them are together for a long time, and Zuko has made sure that he spends as much time as he possibly can afford to with them. They’re only here for a few days to recover after the events of the Comet, and then they’ll be off to wherever they need to be.

Recovery, however, is mostly just an excuse to cling to the little time that they have left together as a group. Zuko and Sokka are the only ones out of the six of them who physically need that kind of major healing time, and with almost three weeks having passed since the Comet, both of them are almost completely recovered. And this will be the last time an excuse like that will work, because even though they’re all still kids, they’re also now war heroes with weirdly large amounts of political power and responsibility. They won’t have time to hang out as friends like this for a long, long time, if ever again. Realistically, they'll likely only see each other at political gatherings and summits. The thought hurts a lot, more than Zuko would like to admit, and he’s dreading the day that his friends have to leave. Two days from now.

But _Sokka._ By Agni, is he testing Zuko’s patience.

“At least twelve more times,” says Katara, smiling. “He never gets things the first time.”

“Hey!” Sokka protests, glaring at his sister. She shrugs at him innocently as he points an accusing finger at her. “You can’t seriously think that he’s got the right idea.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about! I just started listening to this conversation!”

“Aha!” Sokka grins triumphantly at Zuko. “See? Katara thinks it’s a stupid idea, too, _Bad Decision Lord._ ”

Zuko almost slams his head down on the table in frustration, holding himself back only because of the untouched plate of food in front of him. He settles for resting his head in his hands and sighing with frustration as Sokka and Katara erupt into bickering.

Had he thought that this would’ve been such a highly contested decision, he wouldn’t have brought it up to Sokka at all. Especially not during breakfast, since he hardly has time to eat to begin with.

“Okay, wait.” Sokka holds his hands up in front of Katara’s face. “Zuko, tell everyone your crazy bad idea so that they know that I’m right.”

Zuko glares at him.

“Fine,” he says. He looks out at the rest of the table, which has fallen silent. But before he can speak, Suki pipes up.

“Is this about Azula?” she asks. Her eyes are piercing as she meets Zuko’s gaze from across the room, and it takes everything in him not to shift uncomfortably.

“Yes,” he says, and he’s kind of proud how steady his voice is. It’s common knowledge within the palace that Azula is a sensitive topic for the Fire Lord, and even if most of his friends aren’t conscious of just how sensitive that topic is, he can tell that Suki is fully aware just by the way her eyebrow shoots up.

“Your sister?” asks Aang, blinking.

“The one and only,” says Zuko drily. “I want to visit her.”

By the silence that falls over the room, Zuko might as well have announced he would be stepping down as Fire Lord and appointing Momo as his replacement. Not that he hasn’t seriously considered it a few times when the pile of work on his desk mounts too high or when he forgets to sleep, but that’s between him and Momo.

“Your sister,” says Katara. There's a steel to her voice that reminds Zuko a little too much of that moment where she threatened him in the Western Air Temple. “The one who tried to shoot me with lightning but ended up almost killing her brother and laughed about it? The one who chased us all over the world trying to capture us?”

“I did that, too,” Zuko says with a shrug, trying for nonchalance and failing completely. “You all forgave me eventually.”

“Yeah, because you’re a good person,” says Sokka, as though it’s obvious. “Azula’s just…” He makes a twirling motion with his index finger right beside his head.

“Look,” Zuko says, leaning forward. His lips are tight with annoyance, but he pulls himself together long enough to speak. “It’s been a few days. I haven’t seen her at all since the Agni Kai. I’ve seen _Ozai_ , but I haven’t seen my own sister.”

 _Because you’re healing from the wound she gave you when she shot you full of lightning,_ Katara’s expression says, and Zuko pointedly ignores her.

“You saw Ozai for that trial,” says Aang. He’s fiddling with his hands beneath the table, clearing not at ease. “This is different, Zuko. I think you should wait another month or two or until she’s herself again.”

 _Herself,_ he says, and Zuko wonders if he’s referring to the sister that he played with in the gardens and roamed the halls of the palace with when he was young, or perhaps the sister that laughed when he fell off of a tree but still helped him bandage the scrapes on his legs before Father could see. But Aang doesn’t know either of those Azulas; he only knows the Azula that conquered Ba Sing Se, the Azula that shot him with lightning and then shot her brother with lightning. And Aang also knows the broken Azula, the Azula that Zuko has never seen before, with laughter and screaming and sobbing and anguish that Zuko has never seen from her and hopes he will never see again.

He doesn’t know which Azula Aang is talking about. So he settles for, “It’s not as simple as that.”

It isn’t. It really isn’t, and Zuko is being as honest and clear as he possibly can to a group of people that he knows will never understand. They don’t know how deeply he and Azula were affected by Ozai (though Zuko isn’t sure that Azula knows that, either), nor do they know how much Zuko longs for a relationship with Azula like Sokka and Katara have with each other. They don’t know how close they were to having that when they were young, and they don’t know that Ozai’s thirst for power and Ursa’s favoritism ruined any chance of that.

They don’t know that, without the two of them in the picture, Zuko finally has a chance to repair the damage their family has, unknowingly or knowingly, inflicted upon his sister.

“She’s still my sister,” says Zuko. He looks directly at Sokka as he says this. “If Katara were the one in prison, trapped in her own head, and you had no way of knowing what was happening to her, wouldn’t you want to go talk to her, too?”

Sokka opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I would,” he says, and his voice has taken on a more serious tone. He meets Zuko’s gaze levelly, his eyes holding that steel Zuko is accustomed to seeing in battle. “I would. But, Zuko… This is insane. She’s still freaking out and breathing fire and being a much scarier version of Azula than normal.”

“That’s exactly why I need to see her,” Zuko says impatiently. “She’s still my sister. I should be there for her for something like this. And I--”

Zuko breaks off, looking down at his hands clasped on the table. “I don’t like the idea of her being in that cell all alone,” he says quietly. “I can’t imagine how she must be feeling right now.”

A silence falls over the table. Zuko doesn’t look up.

“Zuko,” Suki says gently. “How do you know that she isn’t going to try to hurt you again?”

“She--” Zuko whirls on her, then closes his eyes. He lets his posture drop into a slouch, head falling into his hands. There’s another silence.

“I’m still going to visit her,” he says into the quiet, voice slightly muffled against his hands. “You know that, right?”

“I know that there’s no stopping you when you get like this,” says Katara. “At least take one of us or Mai with you. I’d feel better with someone that you care about there to support you afterwards.”

“Sweetness,” says Toph, punctuating the word with a snap of Suki’s fan, “you have never said a more logical thing in your life.”

Katara glares at Toph, then seems to remember that she can’t see her. The doors to the dining room open, and a guard enters the room.

“Is it time already?” Zuko asks, dread sinking into his still empty stomach.

“Yes, Fire Lord,” the guard says. “The delegates from the Earth Kingdom are waiting for you in the council room, as per your instructions.”

“Thank you,” says Zuko. The guard makes the sign of the flame, bows, and exits the room.

“You’re leaving already?” asks Aang, and he’s giving Zuko that wide-eyed, innocent look that Zuko doesn’t know if he even realizes he’s doing.

“You’ve barely eaten,” says Katara, nudging at his plate. “Surely you can stay for just a few more minutes. We only have a few days left together.”

“No, I’ve got to get going.” Zuko stands up. “I’ll join you all for dinner tonight, though. I should be free by then.”

He uses the word _free_ very loosely, because in reality, he’ll probably end up having ten minutes to spare if he wants to get through all of the work he wants to get done today. He’s already behind on that trade agreement Minister Xin mentioned, and he hasn’t even started reviewing Minister Yu’s tariff proposal. That’s not to mention the letter he has to write to both of the Water Tribes regarding ambassadors (he doesn't blame them for being so hesitant to send their people to the Fire Nation so soon, but someone has to come), the response to General Liu that he has to rewrite entirely because the first one was so hostile (and Zuko really is working on his anger these days, but it feels like that man is trying to make him snap), the documents he needs to gather for his meeting with Governor Ito in a few days, and the _stacks_ of laws from Sozin to Ozai’s rule waiting for him to sort through and figure out what needs to be struck down and what needs to be edited. He doesn’t trust anyone else to handle any of these things, especially when the majority of his ministers are likely still loyal to Ozai, and he doesn’t know who he can afford to give more work to. It’s taking a toll on him, but if it means that things will get done effectively and the way that he wants them to, it’s worth it.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, when he walks out of the dining room, leaving his friends behind to finish their breakfast. Even if he aches to be beside them, aches to be able to waste time with them over the remaining two days that they have left until they scatter across the world to where they are needed most, he can’t afford to.

Not for the first time, Zuko wishes that Uncle had taken the throne instead of him.

He’d talked with Uncle a day before his coronation about that very topic. He walked into the room Uncle was staying in, hesitant and nervous and feeling like the child that had wandered the halls of the palace so many years ago. Uncle had a pot of tea in front of him, already sipping from a cup, but he’d quickly pulled out another cup the moment Zuko walked into the room. Zuko asked him if he would be regent for a year or two, just until Zuko was able to get the hang of palace life again and relearn the politics and policies that he’d been taught before his banishment.

Uncle had, as gently as he could, refused.

And Zuko accepted this, because Uncle deserves to rest after everything. He deserves to be able to properly grieve for his son and not be burdened by the aftermath of the very war that had killed him, deserves to be able to do what he wants to do, not what he has to do, because he has always done what he has to do. He has taken care of Zuko for too long.

So Zuko had nodded and stared down into the empty cup of tea in his hands. And the next day, he was crowned Fire Lord.

“You heading somewhere?”

Zuko glances up, startled, to see Mai standing in front of him with a slight smile on her face. Zuko feels his own features relax into a smile of his own, and he steps right into her opened arms.

“Hi,” he murmurs into her shoulder. His arms find her waist.

“Hi,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m going to greet the Earth Kingdom delegates.”

“They can wait.”

Zuko pulls away, looking at Mai with fake exasperation. She responds with a soft poke to his collarbone.

“This is kind of important,” says Zuko, but he can’t seem to stop smiling. “I left my friends at breakfast for this. It wouldn’t be a good look for the Fire Nation if I left a group of important delegates hanging like this.”

“Oh, alright." Mai gives him a gentle shove. “I just haven’t seen a lot of you lately. It feels like you’re trying to make me leave you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Zuko promises. Mai rolls her eyes, but he can see her fighting back a smile. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“If I haven’t skewered those delegates for stealing my boyfriend away,” Mai says, hand patting a spot beneath her sleeve where Zuko knows she keeps about a dozen knives, “then yes.”

She pecks Zuko’s cheek, and Zuko squeezes her hand. They walk away from one another, Zuko going in one direction, Mai in the other, and it takes everything in Zuko not to turn around and run after Mai and join her wherever she’s headed.

But he can’t very well do that when he’s left his friends at breakfast. He’s committed to seeing these delegates, now, if he wasn’t already before.

So he keeps walking.

\---

Just as Zuko expected, he doesn’t have any free time until that evening.

The meeting with the delegates is mercifully short, and the conversation had seemed to go relatively well, all things considered - at least once they got over how young Zuko is. The delegates were quick to tell Zuko that they don’t trust him completely and that they refuse to engage in any real negotiations in the Fire Nation. They want peace talks to take place in the Earth Kingdom or in one of the Water Tribes, a condition that Zuko understood immediately and agreed to without question. They tentatively agree on a date about three and a half weeks out in which Zuko will travel to the Earth Kingdom to negotiate the terms of peace and treaties.

All things considered, the conversation went quite well, even if the delegates are going to be leaving the very next day. Zuko still isn’t quite sure why they didn’t write, because this conversation certainly could’ve been held over written correspondence, and he has no idea why they even wanted to make the long journey to the Fire Nation in the first place if they’re just going to leave immediately afterwards. But, he guesses, as he’s walking through the hallway and runs into yet another delegate on his way to a meeting, that they want to make sure that Zuko isn’t doing anything going back on his word about ending the war.

It’s actually not the worst idea. Zuko is kind of glad that they’re doing it, especially if it means that they will be more likely to trust him during negotiations.

Zuko walks back to his room, head heavy and eyes drooping with exhaustion. His advisors and ministers, predictably, had not taken the delegates’ condition well. He’s gotten through almost nothing that he wanted to today because his ministers were so adamant that they hold negotiations in the Fire Nation. Zuko is convinced that they’re just arguing for the sake of arguing, now, because they’re still in denial about Ozai’s fall. He knows he’s going to have to replace most, if not all, of them at some point, but it’s so difficult to find qualified people to take their places, and he can’t exactly fire his entire council without being compared to his father.

The beginnings of a letter to the chiefs of the Water Tribes are already forming in his head, and he thinks he might be able to send at least one off tonight if he hurries. He’s sure that Earth King Kuei will also be extending a similar invitation for negotiations as well, but the sooner that the news gets to the poles, the better, and it will be at least two days before the delegates can relay the news to Kuei. If the Water Tribes refuse, Zuko will have to find a way to meet with them separately, but it would certainly be much easier if all of the negotiations and peace talks could happen with all three nations present at once. Zuko knows that he’s going to have to explain himself and his reasoning for changing sides, and he doesn’t quite relish the idea of repeating himself over and over again. It was tiring (and horrifyingly embarrassing, and his friends have never stopped teasing him about it) the first time at the Western Air Temple, and he has no desire to repeat that more than he has to.

Chief Hakoda will likely agree, thankfully. His relationship with Zuko was weird in the beginning, after Boiling Rock, mostly because Zuko’s perception of father figures was so skewed, but they’d had a conversation at the temple that cleared up any doubts Zuko might’ve had about him. Since then, Zuko would like to think that they’ve become… friends. Of a sort. It helps that they’re both political leaders, now, so Zuko has an excuse to retain some formality when he talks to him.

He’ll have to skip dinner again tonight to get everything done. It should be fine; it isn’t the first time that Zuko will be doing it. He hardly ate properly on the ship when he was searching for the Avatar; the only reason he ever did was because Uncle--

_Shit._

“Shit,” he whispers under his breath, panic stabbing through him, and he's suddenly grateful that he told his guards to leave him be so that they don't witness the full 180 degree turn that their Fire Lord performs. He turns sharply on the ball of his foot, the hem of his robes swishing from the abrupt movement, and starts fast-walking in the exact opposite direction he was headed, to the dining room that they were in for breakfast.

Spirits, he’s a terrible friend. He got so caught up in politics, in _politics,_ when his friends are waiting for him to join them for dinner, and they only have two days left together, and he was about to do what? Write a letter or two? _Sleep?_

Zuko skids to a stop in front of the dining room. He gives the guards on either side of the doors a brief nod, and these guards, at least, both know by now that Zuko would rather open doors himself, then bursts into the room.

“Sorry,” he gasps, closing the doors behind him. “I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” says Sokka, waving a hand for him to sit down. “We already started without you; don’t worry.”

“Sokka!” Katara shoves him.

“What? We did!”

Aang waves at Zuko, grinning widely. Mai, and Zuko is unbelievably happy to see her sitting peacefully with his friends because things had been so tense between the group and her at first, gives Zuko a sharp smile, patting the empty seat beside her to sit down. Suki smiles at Zuko as well when he makes eye contact with her, her head resting on Sokka’s shoulder as he bickers with Katara. Toph is lying down in her chair, and at first, Zuko thinks that she’s ignoring him, but then she flicks her finger and a small pebble smacks the back of his head.

“Alright, Toph,” says Zuko, rubbing his head as he starts walking. “I’m moving.”

“You’d better,” Toph says, sitting up straight. “You’ve been working all day. None of us are leaving until you finish your meal.”

“What--” Zuko looks at everyone else’s plates. They’re all empty.

Shit. How late was he?

Katara folds her arms, giving Zuko a firm glare. “You shouldn’t be working this hard,” she says testily. “You’re still healing from your wound. It’s not healthy to be working so hard all the time, especially with an injury like that.”

“Someone has to,” says Zuko, smiling slightly at her indignation. “But you don’t have to wait for me. I wasn’t planning on eating, anyways.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast,” Sokka says, folding his arms. “Did you eat lunch?”

“Yes,” Zuko says.

“It’s insulting how bad of a liar you are,” says Toph.

“We already agreed to stay until you’ve eaten,” says Suki, giving Zuko a smile that might’ve passed for apologetic if Zuko didn’t know her. “All of us did. There’s no getting out of it.”

Zuko blinks in confusion. He looks at Mai, who’s staring at him expectantly with raised eyebrows, and then at the rest of his friends, all of whom are wearing the exact same impatient look on their faces.

“All of you?” he asks.

“All of us,” says Katara, “so you know it’s serious.”

“How did--”

“I’m the Avatar,” quips Aang, straightening up. “Peace-making is kind of my thing.”

“This doesn’t mean that we’ve forgiven you, by the way,” Sokka says to Mai, leaning across the table and squinting at her. “You still haven’t apologized.”

Mai groans, throwing her head back in annoyance. “I _have,_ ” she says. “Multiple times. I hate apologizing, but I’ve done it hundreds of times for you all. Don’t make me do it again.”

Mostly to stop another argument from breaking out, Zuko quickly sits down in the seat beside Mai. Both Mai and Sokka stop talking when he does, and Zuko can’t help but think that their argument might’ve been a little bit staged.

A _little_ bit. Because neither of them are that great of actors.

Zuko takes a bite of the food on his plate, and it’s a little cold, but it tastes good. He looks out at the rest of the table, at his friends, listening to the conversations that have burst back into life, and feels a tension release in his shoulders. Aang has crossed to the other side of the table and is standing on one of the chairs, braiding Katara’s hair while she argues with Sokka, and if that doesn’t describe the entire dynamic of the three of them. Toph occasionally butts into the conversation with a point that lends to the opposite side each time, grinning mischievously the whole time, and she looks so much like that wanted poster she showed him from when she was running all of those scams that it’s mildly alarming. Suki has her eyes closed, head still on Sokka’s shoulder, but by the way that her lip twitches up every now and then, Zuko knows that she’s still fully tuned into the conversation.

Then there’s a tap on the top of his hand, and Zuko looks down to see Mai’s pale, elegant hand, callused from all of the blades that she handles, slipping into his. She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, and how did he get so lucky with someone like her? How did he get so lucky to be able to sit in this room, surrounded by friends, sitting with his girlfriend, being strong-armed into eating his food?

“I missed you,” he whispers to her, leaning his head towards her. Mai rests her head on his shoulder and sighs.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers back. “Now start eating so we can go to bed.”

And this is nice. This is really nice. Zuko can almost forget everything else, surrounded by the people that he loves. He can almost forget politics, can almost forget the letters that he has to write, the ministers he’s going to have to argue with, the laws that he has to go through, and can even almost forget Azula, who’s been hovering at the back of his mind all day.

But then he remembers her wild laughter, her maniacal eyes and the sounds of her uncontrollable sobs and screams, tears carving thick tracks down her cheeks. And his smile fades.

He can almost forget.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know every atla fanfic author has said this at some point, but what is up with this series and names? I think I'll be using Chinese/Japanese for the Fire Nation and Korean for the Earth Kingdom (those two are likely going to be the most heavily featured nations in this fic, and those three are the languages I'm most used to given my own background), but I'm just. Where is the consistency?? Definitely not saying this just because I hate writing politics and I have to come up with a bunch of names of ministers and generals haha what are you talking about--
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Comments literally make my entire day, and I love reading through them so much :)
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	3. goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko has a conflict about Azula, and the Gaang leaves the Fire Nation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so long that I split it into two. I was originally planning on putting Azula's chapter first, but it makes more sense if this one comes first. This is Zuko again, and I know it feels slow right now. Honestly, I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I think I got it to the best point it can be. Just bear with me - the next two chapters are really, really intense (Azula's perspective is the next chapter).

For anyone who knows them, finding Zuko shirtless on his bed with Katara and a bucket of water beside him shouldn’t be a surprising sight. Except this time, the bucket is out of sight, and this time, a servant unfamiliar with the ritual that has been happening for the past three weeks walks into the room and promptly hurries out, cheeks flushed red.

“Does he know that I’m dating Mai?” Zuko wonders aloud, hoping that he says it loud enough for the servant to hear. Katara rolls her eyes, waterbending fresh water into the air and over Zuko’s chest. He inhales slightly at the chill of the water but forces himself to relax.

Since the Comet, Katara has been threatening (literally threatening) Zuko into letting her heal the wound in the center of his torso. She’s had to chase him down on more than a few occasions, especially when he was able to walk properly without someone there to support him, and Zuko is sure that she’s given his guards more than a few heart attacks with the amount of death threats she gives him.

But he appreciates her concern. He’s certain that he would’ve died after that Agni Kai if it weren’t for her, and Fire Nation medical practices are nowhere near as effective as waterbending is. Besides, her pressuring him into doing this every single day means that he doesn’t have to bring any unnecessary attention to any pain he feels there. Katara can locate it and treat it quickly without him having to take any more time away from his work.

Zuko doesn’t know what he’s going to do when she’s gone.

“Breathe,” she instructs, and Zuko does. Katara’s eyes narrow slightly in concentration. She nods, pulling the water off of him and back into the bucket.

“Everything sounds good,” she says. “You’re in the clear.”

“Great,” Zuko says, starting to sit up, but Katara shoves him back down. He falls back against the mattress, head hitting the pillow.

“Look, Zuko.” Katara folds her arms, pressing her lips together as she looks at him. Zuko settles back into the bed, watching her expectantly. The blue of her clothes stands out against the rest of the reds in the room, much like the water had against Zuko’s burn. “We’re leaving tomorrow. And, I’m going to be honest… You’re really bad at taking care of yourself.”

Zuko frowns. “I’ve gotten better,” he says defensively. “I ate yesterday, didn’t I?”

“After we forced you to,” says Katara exasperatedly, and Zuko has no response to that. “Your wound is all healed, finally, but that doesn’t mean that you’re fully recovered yet. You’re still going to have to eat and sleep properly. _Without_ people forcing you to do that. Overworking yourself isn’t going to help anyone, Zuko.”

Zuko looks away. Katara sighs, tucking her legs beneath her as she takes Zuko’s hand.

“You’re going to be a great Fire Lord,” she says, her light blue eyes piercing into Zuko’s, “but you can’t do anything unless you take care of yourself. I’m serious. Fire Nation doctors aren’t going to be able to help you like I’ve been helping you, and we’re not going to be here to blackmail you into taking care of yourself.”

“Blackmail…?”

“Sokka and Toph had an idea for next time,” says Katara, waving her hand in the air. “That’s not important.”

“No, I actually think that’s--”

“My point,” Katara interrupts, tightening her grip on Zuko’s hand, “is that you need to eat properly and sleep properly when we’re gone. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes ma’am,” says Zuko, rolling his eyes, which causes a smile to spread over Katara’s face. Seemingly satisfied, she lets go of Zuko’s hand as she stands up and picks up the bucket.

Then a thought occurs to Zuko, and he can’t stop himself from breaking the blissful peace.

“Hey, Katara?”

Katara turns around, looking at him curiously. “Yeah?”

Zuko sits up, pulling his tunic back over himself, and leans back against the headboard of the bed. He hesitates, but takes the plunge before he can change his mind. “I was wondering what Sokka is like. From your perspective.”

For a moment, Katara just looks confused, and Zuko wishes he’d listened to common sense and not said anything at all. Then realization flickers in her eyes, and her mouth drops open into a small O. She sits back down on the bed.

“Is this about Azula?” she asks softly. Zuko barely manages a nod.

“I’m just…” Zuko looks down at his hands. “I don’t know if I’m ready to visit her yet. I want to, I really do, but I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to handle what I’m going to see. And I don’t know if I can be the brother that she needs right now.”

“Oh, Zuko.” Katara takes both of his hands into hers. Her hands are soft, warm, gentle, and he feels secure with her here. “The fact that you’re even worrying about that shows that you’re a good brother. Being there for her at all is more than enough.”

“But that’s the thing,” says Zuko. “I haven’t been there for her. It’s been three weeks, Katara. I’ve left her in that prison for three weeks, and I don’t--”

“Zuko.” Katara squeezes his hands. “You were busy. You were hardly conscious for the first week, and after that, you had your coronation and took on all of the work of a Fire Lord while still healing. It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“Well, it’s not,” Katara says briskly. “If it were up to me, I’d leave Azula in that prison, alone, for everything that she’s done to you. But... I know that if Sokka were the one in that prison, I’d probably be feeling the same way as you. And I’d want to be on his side no matter what he’d done.”

Katara looks at Zuko, her eyes full of warmth. “You’re a really good brother,” she says. “Azula is lucky to have you.”

To Zuko’s horror, he can feel tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He quickly looks away, blinking.

“Thank you,” he rasps. Katara reaches out and hugs him, and Zuko lets himself relax in her arms. “Sokka is lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” says Katara, and he hears the smile in her voice, “he really is.”

\---

And then it’s all over.

\---

Zuko hates goodbyes.

Maybe it would be easier if it just didn’t feel so final, standing on a dock with Appa on one side and a boat on the other, and all of his friends with their bags. But it just feels so cruel to be parted from them now, after everything they’ve been through together. He wants to ask them all to stay for just one more week, but he doesn’t. He didn’t with Uncle, and he doesn’t with his friends. They are needed elsewhere, after all.

Aang and Katara are going all over the world on Appa to check on every part of each nation and make sure that everything is going okay, and they’re dropping Sokka off in the South Pole as their first stop. Zuko can’t help but envy the adventures that they’re sure to have while he’s stuck in a palace, hunched over paperwork and with little time to go anywhere outside of the Fire Nation. Suki is heading back to Kyoshi Island, which she’s more than excited for, and she grudgingly accepts Zuko’s offer to send some financial aid to help the village rebuild after he, uh, burned it down. She says it’s just to help his conscience, but he knows that she’s grateful by how tightly she hugs him now.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Zuko has to force himself not to cry as she pulls away. She gives him a smile, putting both of her hands on his shoulders to look at him straight in the eye. “Good luck with your sister. I know how hard family things can be.”

Zuko feels something clench, then unclench, in his chest. “Thank you,” he says quietly, because he doesn’t know how emotional he’d sound if he spoke any louder. But Suki seems to get it, because she hugs him again, tightly, and it’s seriously unfair how she’s so strong but gives such gentle hugs.

“We’ll be back soon,” says Sokka, pulling Zuko in for a hug as Suki turns to Mai. He claps Zuko on the back. “Don’t burn down the country while we’re gone.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “I have a feeling that if that happens, it’s not going to be--”

He’s effectively cut off by a tiny green ball of force.

Toph tackles him into a suffocating hug, sending Sokka off balance and shrieking as he struggles not to fall into the water. Zuko _does not_ yelp with surprise, and he definitely doesn’t stand there awkwardly as Toph squeezes all of the air out of his lungs with a bone-crushing grip that a twelve year old, master earthbender or not, definitely shouldn’t have.

“Um,” says Zuko, and it comes out about an octave higher than his voice normally is. “Toph?”

Toph lets go of him at last, and Zuko breathes a sigh of relief, rubbing his rib cage. The relief is temporary, however, because then Toph punches him really hard on the arm, and Zuko is in pain all over again.

“Seriously, Toph?” shouts Sokka, stumbling back to his feet. “I almost fell into the water!”

“It’s your fault for being in the way!” Toph shouts back. She turns back to Zuko, her arms folded across her chest, and she’s grinning.

 _Oh,_ Zuko thinks. _Oh no._

“You’ll be at the negotiations in the Earth Kingdom, right?” asks Zuko, because he really doesn’t want to know what Toph is planning. But her smile widens, and Zuko realizes that he’s landed right on the very topic that she wanted to talk about.

“I’m heading back to Gaoling, first, to visit my parents,” she says. “I’m hoping that they’ll change their mind about me when they see who I am.”

“That’s great,” says Zuko, and he means it. “Are you nervous?”

Toph scowls. “Of course not,” she says, and Zuko might be a terrible liar, but he can tell when someone is avoiding something. “I miss them.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be nervous,” Zuko says. But Toph’s grin has faded completely, and he really doesn’t want to end their last conversation in a long time on a bad note, so he quickly shifts the subject. “What about the negotiations, then? Will you go to Ba Sing Se?”

“Technically, I can’t,” says Toph, shifting slightly on her feet, “because, war hero or not, I’m an ordinary Earth Kingdom citizen. But I’m also a Beifong, so that might carry some weight. You could tell everyone that I’m an ambassador from Gaoling or something.”

Wow. By Toph’s standards, this is the peak of subtlety. Zuko is almost impressed.

“I could,” says Zuko. “I don’t know if I’d have the ability to do that, but I could--”

“You’re the Fire Lord,” says Toph, and Zuko flushes bright red.

_Right. I’m the Fire Lord._

“Right,” he says, hoping that Toph isn’t listening to his heartbeat, because _spirits,_ he’s embarrassed. It suddenly makes sense why Toph wanted to talk to _him_ about this. “I’m the Fire Lord.”

Toph’s grin bursts back to life. She punches Zuko in the arm again. “You’re dumb,” she says. “But it’s okay. You have us.”

Zuko’s mouth drops open in indignation as she walks away. He starts to call after her, but then his eyes land on Aang and Katara, both of whom are watching him. He closes his mouth and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hey,” he says, walking towards them. “Sorry. Toph was hogging me.”

“No, that was entertaining,” says Katara, smiling. To Zuko’s surprise, the little pins that she uses to form the loops of her hair are a deep, Fire Nation red. Zuko blinks at that, glancing at the pins and then back at Katara.

“That was my idea,” says Aang, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Momo chitters in annoyance, climbing from Aang’s shoulders to the top of his head from the movement. “Doesn’t it look great? She looks so pretty.”

“Aang,” says Katara, flushing. She looks at Zuko, cheeks still slightly pink. “We thought it would be a good, upfront way to show everyone that the Fire Nation is committed to peace. If we trust you, then everyone else is sure to trust you, too.”

Zuko doesn’t stop the smile spreading over his face. “It looks amazing,” he says. “Thank you.”

He says the last part to both of them, and they beam at him. The three of them embrace, holding each other tightly until Momo climbs on top of Zuko’s head and starts shrieking, and then they have to break apart because Zuko’s guards are shifting nervously as though wondering what the protocol is for handling a very emotional lemur harassing their Fire Lord.

“Remember what I told you about taking care of yourself,” Katara says, giving Zuko a stern look. “Next time we see each other, you’d better be in perfect health.”

“If you’re not,” Sokka jumps in, and Zuko turns just in time to see him toss his luggage up into Appa’s saddle, “Toph and I still have a top secret backup plan.”

“The blackmail?” asks Zuko.

“Katara!” shrieks Sokka, his grip on Appa faltering. He falls down to the ground and scrambles to his feet, pointing at his sister accusingly. “You told him!”

“We’ll be in Ba Sing Se for the peace talks,” chirps Aang as he climbs on top of Appa, deftly ignoring Katara and Sokka’s argument. “And we’ll write to you. Just don’t write back, ‘cause we’ll be somewhere different every day, and we're probably not going to get it.”

“Noted,” says Zuko. He pats Appa’s nose. “I’ll miss you, buddy.”

“Aw,” pouts Aang. “And not me?”

“Go away before I imprison you so you're forced to stay here," says Zuko, and he’s only half joking.

“That would be one way to regain your honor,” says Sokka. Zuko stares, because it takes him a moment, but then he understands, and his face goes bright red, and he wants to strangle him. Aang is laughing, because he always laughs when Katara laughs, and Zuko wants to strangle the both of them, too.

“It’s not funny,” he mumbles, except maybe it’s a little funny, and maybe he’s fighting back a small smile of his own.

But then everyone has to go, and someone inside of the ship is calling for Suki and Toph to board. Sokka quickly gives Suki a last minute hug, pecking her on the lips while Toph flicks pebbles at their heads impatiently, and Katara lets Aang airbend her on top of Appa, and then everyone’s shouting goodbyes and giving last minute hugs, and then Appa is in the air, and the ship is leaving the dock, and Zuko is all alone.

Well. Not quite.

Mai takes his hand. Neither of them are looking at each other, both of them staring out at the two shrinking specks in the air and the water, and Zuko wonders if they’re moving farther away or if he’s failing to keep up.

“I like that Kyoshi warrior,” says Mai abruptly. “Suki. I hope Ty Lee gets close with her. I wanted to spar with her before she left, but I never got the chance.”

“She only stopped distrusting you yesterday,” Zuko says, smiling.

“Oh well.” Mai shrugs. “Next time, then.”

There’s a long silence. Zuko keeps his eyes on the horizon, where the two little dots are becoming harder and harder to make out.

“They never ended up visiting Azula with me,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that now.

“What?” asks Mai.

“Azula,” says Zuko, and he can pinpoint the exact moment where Mai’s expression hardens. “I was going to visit her.”

Mai sighs, tightening her grip on his hand. “Zuko,” she says, and he can hear the edge in her tone, “I love you, but you really make it difficult sometimes. That’s something you should tell me. We’ve been over this.”

Zuko glances at Mai. Her eyes flick to meet his, and he can see the hurt in them.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think that you would want to hear about her.”

“I don’t,” says Mai. “But I know that you care about her. If you think that visiting her will help, you should tell me so that I can tell you how bad of an idea that is, not hide it away for me to find out when some servants are gossiping in the hallway about you again.”

Zuko frowns. “Servants gossip about me?”

“You’re the Fire Lord. Of _course_ servants gossip about you. The whole world gossips about you, Zuko. But that’s not the point. I just want you to tell me what you’re thinking, alright? Let me inside of your head a little bit.”

“Alright,” says Zuko, and he pulls Mai a little closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re done with secrets. We agreed on that.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Mai puts her arm around Zuko’s waist and leans against him. “I’ll go with you when you see Azula, if you want,” she says softly. “If you need me there.”

“Really?” A blossom of hope bursts in his chest. “I’d-- I’d like that. You don’t have to see her, but you can stay outside and-- and just be there.”

“I’ll do that,” says Mai. She frowns, tightening her hold on his waist. “Only for you, though. You know that, right? I’m not going to go visit her on my own.”

“I know,” says Zuko, and his eyes drift towards the horizon, where, if he squints, he thinks he can see the faint outline of a boat sailing farther and farther away. “You don’t have to forgive her for anything; I don’t expect you to. But if you ever do want to see her on your own, I’ll go with you, too.”

“I’ll go with you and Ty Lee, if I ever do.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

Zuko kisses Mai’s cheek. She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her lip pulls up slightly. They stand like that, two teenagers on a wooden dock surrounded by the sea, just holding each other. Zuko has meetings to attend and ministers to argue with, but they can wait for just a few minutes.

He is the Fire Lord, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko as a platonic relationship just brings me so much joy.
> 
> Again, I'm not really happy with this one, but I seriously can't wait until I can post the next two chapters. I'm really, really excited for you all to read them. I'm seriously fighting the urge to post them right now. Anyways, leave a comment and let me know your thoughts :))
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	4. young and weak and a failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula has a lot of time to think in prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning - this chapter is a bit dark? Not as dark as it will be, but it's Azula in prison, and she's definitely in a very bad mental state right now. Azula's head is not a fun place.
> 
> All of Azula's chapters have been hard to write, and this one was no exception. Her character is emotionally draining to write in a way that no other character is, and I'm just even more convinced that Azula deserved a redemption arc in the comics. But, alas, that never happened, so now this fic exists.
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoy! Next chapter: fire siblings in the same room together? What could go wrong?

Azula loses track of the days.

She can feel the sun rising each morning, and she only knows that there even still is a sun because her body is still in tune to the sun’s path across the sky, even without a window in her cell. No matter what time she falls asleep, and she has no tangible way of knowing when she drifts off, she always wakes up at sunrise. It was fine, even useful, when she wasn’t in a prison cell, but now it’s just _annoying_.

She doesn’t bother scratching tally marks into the walls to try and count the days. It can’t have been that long, even if it feels like it has been years. Not to mention that it feels shameful to do so, like she is admitting defeat, and Azula refuses to allow herself to go that low yet.

They bring in food twice a day, and it’s horrible. It’s jook, most of the time, but it’s always cold and tastes a couple days old, and jook never tastes good after the first day. Azula turns her nose up at it the first time that it’s offered to her, but she quickly regrets the decision when she wakes up in the middle of the night, stomach clenching in hunger. She forces herself to swallow her pride and eat after that.

But she’s left alone other than that. No guards come in to bother her. She has a feeling that they’re scared of her laughter and screaming. Sometimes she doesn’t even realize that she’s doing either until she stops, throat dry and throbbing from overuse.

\---

The first time Mother shows up, Azula had just finished screaming again.

“You’ll ruin your vocal chords,” Azula hears someone say, and she whips her head around to see Mother sitting there, legs folded and hands tucked neatly into her sleeves. Her makeup is as perfect as always, her silhouette the epitome of what a Fire Lady should look like. “Whatever were you screaming about this time?”

 _"You,”_ Azula whispers, eyes narrowing to deadly slits. “What are _you_ doing here? I thought you would’ve been long gone by now. Come to gloat? Are you happy to see me like this?”

“No, my daughter,” Ursa says, and Azula wants to melt off the sad look on her face with the fire threatening to bloom in her palms. She has no right to be _sad._ “I love you. I would never--”

“I am not your daughter,” sneers Azula, hands curling into fists on her thighs. “You thought I was a monster. Go on, then. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You wanted to see me fallen and hurt and _weak,_ a failure, just like Zuko!”

“Zuko is not a failure,” says Mother. Her eyes, that same piercing pale gold as Azula’s, and Azula has always avoided looking in mirrors for too long because of that, look directly into Azula, and it feels like she is staring right into her soul. “He is your brother, and he is my son. He is far from weak.”

“Father always said he was weak,” Azula shoots back with venom, lip curling. “He failed to capture the Avatar, failed to stay loyal to the Fire Nation, failed to be ruthless, failed--”

“And yet he is on the throne,” says Ursa, “not you or your father.”

Azula’s hands begin to tremble on top of her legs.

 _"Why are you here?”_ she shouts, her voice tearing through her throat so harshly that she knows she will be drinking water carefully and delicately for days to come. She scrambles to her feet, digging her hands into her hair. “You can’t just be here to _gloat._ Are you going to kill me? Is that your plan? It’s been your goal to take me out of the picture since the day I was born, hasn’t it? You hated me from the beginning. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner; you think I’m a monster; of course you’re going to try to kill me! You never even considered me as your daughter, did you? My failure at the Agni Kai was your fault, all _your fault._ You knew the effect that you would have on me when you showed up and--”

Azula breaks off. Mother is just looking at her with that sad, sad look.

Fury, fury like Azula has never felt before, boils up in her stomach and engulfs her heart completely. She lets out a scream of rage, face contorted with anger, and sends a blast of blazing blue fire into her mother’s figure on the other side of the cell. The flames hit the wall, deep cracks splintering into the stone, leaving a smoking crater in the center.

And no Mother.

\---

She keeps coming, though. Azula doesn’t know how she gets in, but she’s always sitting inside of the cell, her posture perfect and her expression always so measured, so _gentle,_ that Azula wants to burn the skin right off of her face. She entertains herself with images of her mother’s burned, charred features when she’s bored. And she’s almost always bored.

Seriously. Prison is so boring. Azula knows that she was not nearly as boring of a captor as these fools are. She may have been cruel, yes, and she may have gone too far sometimes, but she was always interesting.

Her conversations with Mother always end with Azula’s fire. She’s always too angry to summon lightning _(weak weak weak weak Father will be so disappointed)._

Somewhere along the way, she remembers that Mother is dead. Or missing, depending on how optimistic one is, but Azula prefers _dead._ It’s easier, that way, and much more pleasant to imagine. Because if she’s missing, she’s alive, and if she’s alive, she can hurt Azula even more than she already has. After all, if she’s having this much of an impact on Azula’s mind when she isn’t even here, what could she do in person? Or perhaps this really is Mother, and she really is here, taunting her with pity in her eyes and a sad downturn to her painted lips.

Azula imagines her mother’s face being eaten by flames, and she breathes.

(Or laughs. They’re one and the same at this point.)

\---

There’s a rat in her cell. Azula burns it alive.

She makes it quick.

\---

Father is alive.

The guards outside of her cell are much too loud for their own good. Azula wonders if they think she is too far gone to hear them or if they simply don’t care. Perhaps they are rubbing her failure in, just like Mother.

But Azula was right. _Father_ was right. The Avatar is a coward and a fool.

 _And a child,_ a voice in the back of her head adds, and Azula would like to say that it sounds like Mother, but it doesn’t. It sounds like Azula.

\---

Zuko is the new Fire Lord. She only knows this because of the guards. Really, one would think that they would be a little more mindful in their chattering, especially when _Azula_ is on the other side of the wall.

“--after the coronation,” one of them is saying. “I can’t believe he’s actually serious about ending the war. I would’ve thought he would’ve taken after his family.”

“He must take after his uncle,” chuckles the other guard.

“General Iroh, you mean?” the first guard asks drily, effectively silencing the second guard. “I say that it’s only a matter of time before the kid goes crazy with all of that power and goes back on his word. We were so close to winning the war. All he needs to do is say the word, and the world is ours.”

“Don’t say that,” hisses the second guard. “If you’re really right about Fire Lord Zuko being like his family, it’s not safe to say things like that here when he’s made clear that he wants to end the war. We still don’t know what he’s like.”

Azula doesn’t bother suppressing a snort at that. She tunes out of the conversation, laying down on her back, and stares up at the ceiling, absent-mindedly bouncing a fireball against the wall.

So Iroh refused to take the throne, did he? He’s either weaker or more cunning than Azula thought. Perhaps he was afraid of the power, which would make him a fool, or perhaps he is waiting to usurp Zuko when he is at his weakest to ensure that he has no competition for the throne. It is calculating enough to be something that Azula would do, but she can’t see Iroh doing that, somehow. Not after he abandoned the siege on Ba Sing Se because of his son’s death.

Azula pauses, keeping the fireball in her hand as she frowns at the charred wall across from her.

Still, Azula had been almost certain that he would’ve become Fire Lord, or at least regent, until Zuko became an adult, but he’s just allowed his nephew to take control of the Fire Nation at sixteen years old. Let alone the fact that Zuko was at sea for two, perhaps three, years, and that he likely has no knowledge of the workings of politics beyond what he learned in those few years between becoming crown prince and his banishment. It was different with Azula, because Father would’ve still had some responsibility over the country as the Phoenix King, but Zuko? Zuko is alone.

Azula smiles. The smile turns into a laugh. She throws the fireball at the wall again, letting it bounce against the stone and fall back into her hand. Here she was thinking that Iroh might’ve been different from the rest of their family.

But Iroh has abandoned Zuko after all.

\---

One morning, when one of the guards brings in her bowl of jook, Azula punches him clean in the face, grabs the keys hanging off of his belt, unlocks her cell, and makes a break for it.

She’s not trying to run away. If she were, she would succeed. Running away would require having a place to run to, and the only place Azula can think of where she would be welcome is with Father. And she’s certain that Father is imprisoned somewhere. No, she is safest in her own cell, where she knows Zuko will have given orders to keep her unharmed, and she is most useful to Father if she is safe.

(She so desperately wants to talk to Father and figure out if he is angry at her for failing, but she has no idea where he would be or what she would even say.)

No, she’s not escaping. If she were escaping, she wouldn’t be making so much noise. She is just bored, _painfully_ bored, and pretending to escape seemed like a good idea to provide some reprieve from that boredom.

And it is. It really, really is.

It’s early in the morning, just after sunrise, and it doesn’t seem like anyone is fully awake. Azula blazes past the guards in the hallway, hardly glancing at anyone as she parts a path to the door with arcs of fire, blue fire, more fire than she has produced since the Agni Kai, and she’s pleasantly surprised that her fire has remained blue despite a lack of sunlight and severely limited food intake. She doesn’t mean to make it as far as she does, but she’s come all this way, and it would be a waste to just turn back now, so she bursts through the doors and--

Sunlight.

Azula stops dead in her tracks, suddenly forgetting why she’s here or what she’s doing, because there’s _sunlight._ And it’s warm and it’s gold and she can feel it soaking through her skin, stirring her chi, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d been affected by the lack of sunlight in her cell until now. It feels like heaven itself on her cold skin, like warm breath on frozen hands or hot soup on a winter’s day.

(Like Father’s rare, approving smile, the one he saves just for her, his warm, firm hand on her shoulder.)

Azula stands there for so long that she doesn’t even notice when there are hands on her arms until she's yanked backwards.

“Let go of me,” she snaps, coming back to her senses. She glares at the guards with their hands on her and wills heat to rise to her skin, causing them to both yelp and flinch back, pulling their hands off of her. Azula looks around, taking in the scene around her, and yes, she knows where she is. This is the prison just outside of the palace, just as she had guessed. Iroh had been kept here when he betrayed the Fire Nation at Ba Sing Se. For the first time, it occurs to Azula that this is likely where they are keeping Father, too.

Of all of their remaining family _(because Mother is dead Mother is dead Mother is dead)_ , Zuko is the only one who has not been held prisoner within these walls.

Azula starts laughing. Because it really is quite funny.

Zuko is the Fire Lord. _Zuko._ Zuzu, young and weak and a failure, is the Fire Lord, and he has no family left in the palace to support him, and Azula and Ozai are sitting in a prison because, for the first time in their lives, they failed, and they failed badly enough that they landed her _brother_ on the throne.

Zuko. On the throne. In the palace.

No Iroh. No Mother. No Father.

She keeps laughing, even when the guards get over themselves and yank her backwards, and she doesn’t resist because she wasn’t even planning on escaping in the first place. She laughs as they lead her back into the prison, laughs as they grip her shoulders and march her down the hall, laughs as they shove her back into her cell, laughs as they lock the cell. Laughs until one of the guards shouts for her to be quiet as he closes the door behind him, and she laughs even more, then, because they _finally_ listened to her. She doesn’t know how long it has taken, but they finally listened.

Her laughter echoes, bouncing against the walls and back into her own ears, and it hurts a little bit. But she keeps laughing.

She keeps laughing.

\---

The next day, she wakes up, and she feels the absence of the sun more than ever.

So she does it again. She takes out the guards again, and they’re much more prepared this time, but she welcomes the challenge. She gets as far as the doors when she’s swarmed by guards, but it doesn’t deter her. She floods the hall with flames, forcing all of the guards against the walls, and bursts into sunlight and warmth and basks in Agni’s light.

It’s only five seconds that she’s able to spend standing there like some kind of plant, soaking up as much of the light as she possibly can, but she feels more alive, more conscious, than she has in days. Weeks, maybe. She doesn’t know how long it’s been.

They drag her back to her cell again, and she lets them.

\---

It becomes a part of her daily routine. She eats, she screams at Mother, she laughs. The moment the guard comes in to bring her food, she knocks him out (and it’s always the same guard every single time) and runs.

This goes on for a bit. It gets harder and harder to break out each time because the number of guards outside of her cell keeps increasing, but the difficulty is worth it for the thrill it gives her and for being able to feel the sun on her skin. Not to mention that it’s a break from doing literally nothing all day, and it’s quite entertaining.

And then, one day, they don’t bring her food.

They bring chains and shackles.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Azula snaps with as much authority as she can manage, eyeing the guards in her cell with apprehension. “If you’re planning on chaining me up, I hope you know that I would just melt through the metal.”

She’s still angry that she didn’t do that at the Agni Kai. Though, to be fair, being soaked in water made it difficult to firebend and to think properly, and she might’ve ended up with too many injuries for it to have been useful to her. Yes, it’s probably best that she didn’t do it then, especially since that Water Tribe girl would’ve extinguished her flames the moment she realized what was happening. Zuko never would’ve let her do that to herself.

 _Coward,_ she thinks to herself, except maybe she says it out loud, because everyone’s looking at her. Or maybe she’s been talking out loud this entire time.

Azula doesn’t really care either way, so she smiles pleasantly.

One of the guards rolls her eyes. “Ignore her,” she advises the guard holding the chains, and Azula’s eyebrow raises slightly. The commanding element in her tone makes her think that she must be a captain. “The metal would burn her wrists before it would melt. She wouldn’t do that to herself.”

“Then you don’t know me very well,” drawls Azula, smirking at the hesitation showing on the guard’s face. The captain nudges the guard forward impatiently, and he scurries forward, going behind Azula and binding her wrists together.

“Does my darling brother know that you’re doing this?” asks Azula, because she somehow can’t picture Zuko allowing this. “I would think he would show a little more kindness to his younger sister.”

 _Ah._ She’s struck a nerve. The captain shifts slightly on her feet, and the guards behind her exchange looks.

“We have been given permission to use any means necessary to restrain and subdue you,” says the captain, and that’s just a flat out lie.

“If you’re going to lie to me,” Azula says, “you could at least put some effort into it.”

The guard behind her tightens the chains tightly, causing her to arch back slightly, hissing in pain. “Watch it,” he says warningly, but he speaks too fast, betraying his nerves. “You’re a prisoner, not a princess. Your escape attempts have gotten out of hand. It’s only fit that you receive punishment and restraint.”

Azula’s eyebrows shoot up. And it makes sense, suddenly.

“That’s what this is,” she says, the realization dawning on her. She flings her head up to stare at the captain, her uneven hair falling into her eyes and partially shrouding her vision. “Of course. Mother sent you, didn’t she? She’s gotten sick of me at last. How did she talk to you? Was it when she was leaving my cell? Where is she now? _What are you going to do with me?!”_

The captain closes her eyes. Azula almost expects her to pinch the bridge of her nose like Zuko always does, but she doesn’t. She opens her eyes and looks directly at Azula.

“You will not receive food for the next two days,” says the captain. “You will be in chains until tomorrow morning. Do not try to escape, or the consequences will be much more severe.”

Something is bubbling up in Azula’s chest, and a small, quiet part of her brain prays that it isn’t laughter.

It is.

It’s maniacal, and this time, Azula is fully aware of how insane she must sound, because she’s finally able to see people’s reactions up close. The guard behind her scrambles back to his captain, his eyes huge with fear, and Azula almost doesn’t care that the shackles dig into the delicate skin of her wrist as she struggles against them. The other guards look alarmed, slightly wary, and they glance at their captain for further instruction. But even the captain looks uncertain, watching Azula with a mixture of shock, fear, and anger.

And disgust.

The captain whirls around, taking the guards with her, and Azula is left all alone in her cell, chained and unable to move her arms. She keeps laughing, because there’s nothing else to do, and the captain’s expression is so _loud_ in her head, burned into her memory, and she knows that she will never forget that look on her face, so she keeps laughing, laughing, laughing, to drown out the sound of her thoughts, because she’s terrified of what she might become if she listens to the thoughts in her head.

As it usually does, the laughing turns into screaming. And this time, Azula is almost grateful that she’s stopped laughing.

It’s not like there was anything particularly funny, anyways.

\---

And then, one day, Zuzu comes to visit her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be the last of the not-quite-plot-heavy chapters. The next one is pretty intense.
> 
> As always, leave a comment and let me know what you thought <3
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	5. love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko pays a visit to Azula. It goes about as well as one would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this one is a lot. Mai deserves a medal. Small warning for a mention of unintentional self harm. Other than that, this chapter is generally just dark and sad and ouch, but you know what you're getting into with an Azula fic, so.
> 
> Quick update on the general plan for this fic: I've decided that the Promise is not going to happen. I posted my reasoning for why on my Tumblr, but long story short, I reread the comics and realized that I hate how ooc Aang is. I hate it so much. Therefore.... no <3\. Writing politics sucks (the only reason I wanted to keep the Promise was to avoid writing politics to that extent), but I'll do it for Aang. Plans for the Search remain the same. Smoke and Shadow is still absolutely not ever going to happen. I knew that from the start.
> 
> Anyways! I hope you enjoy this chapter :))

Following his friends’ departure, Zuko’s good mood falls apart very, very quickly.

First, General Liu pretends to misunderstand Zuko’s order for him to get out of the Earth Kingdom, because he can’t seem to get it through his thick skull that the war is over. Then, in what was supposed to be a ten minute meeting, Governor Ito spends _three hours_ trying to convince Zuko that letting people starve is a fantastic idea because he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that there is a literal famine going on in his province, and Zuko’s temper, which he has spent the past few months reigning in, flares higher than it has been since his days of chasing the Avatar. He manages to not scream at Ito, but the satisfaction on the governor’s face at the sight of Zuko’s barely suppressed anger is almost enough to make him punch the man.

He doesn’t, though. He could get away with it because he’s the Fire Lord, and that is exactly why he doesn’t do it.

By the end of the day, having attended meetings back to back and argued with far too many people in between each, he’s tired. He is so, so tired, tired enough to skip dinner (he doesn’t, though, because Katara’s voice starts nagging him in his head, so he has a plate of noodles while he works), but then a servant reminds him that he planned on visiting his sister today, and his exhaustion is replaced with a thrilling dread.

Zuko doesn’t want to see Azula. He’s scared of what he might see; if she’ll be laughing or crying or just sitting there, completely numb, or if she’ll be just like her old self, taunting and proud and scathing. He doesn’t know what would be better.

But he wants to see her, at the same time, because she’s still his sister. And he’s worried about her. He doesn’t want her to stay in that prison in the state that she’s in, and, logically speaking, it’s a bad idea to have her held in the same place as Ozai. Even though his exhaustion would be the perfect excuse to delay his visit to her… 

No. He’s not going to do that. He has a job to do as a Fire Lord and as a brother.

So Zuko wipes the ink off of his hands and walks with Mai and two members of his personal guard to the prison that Azula is being held in. He’s walked this path before, alone, when he visited Uncle all of those times, and was that really only less than a few months ago? It feels like years have gone by.

He’d also visited Ozai, once, in his cell, to ask him about his mother. It hadn’t gone well.

“You ought to bring me some tea, Zuko,” Ozai had said, and he’d been curled up on the mat in his cell looking nothing like the man that Zuko was used to associating with the image of his father. This man was frail, defeated, tired, lacking the cruel spark in his icy gold eyes, hardly recognizable to the man who had nearly had the whole world in his clutches days before.

But his smile had been the same, _exactly_ the same, as he told Zuko that he would be back, that he would come seeking his father’s advice sooner or later, and maybe then he would tell him about his mother over a cup of tea. And Zuko, not knowing how much longer he would be able to hide the panic clenching in his chest and tightening his throat, had stormed out of the cell under the guise of disgust and anger.

He hasn’t visited Ozai since. He doesn’t plan to. He doesn’t need Ozai’s advice or his help. He’s already sent out multiple search parties on his mother’s years-old trail. One has to come back with something, anything.

“Zuko?”

Mai is looking at him with that half worried, half exasperated look in her eyes. Zuko blinks, squinting slightly in the bright orange light from the setting sun, and smiles at her as best as he can. Mai furrows her eyebrows.

“You know that you don’t have to do this,” she says. She gently touches his face, thumb brushing the edge of his jawline. Zuko leans into the gesture, closing his eyes. “No one will blame you. It hasn’t been that long yet. She’ll still be there tomorrow, next week, next month.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Mai slips her arm around Zuko’s waist. His right hip bumps against her hand as they walk. “Zuko, talk to me. I never know what you’re thinking anymore.”

“It’s nothing,” says Zuko sharply, perhaps too sharply, because Mai frowns. His shoulders slump as he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut against the headache he can feel coming on. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I just… I feel obligated to see her. I’m her brother. We’re family.”

“Ozai is your family,” Mai points out.

“That’s different.” Zuko looks at Mai. “I have to do this. I _want_ to do this.”

Mai gives him an appraising look. She stops walking, and so does Zuko, and the guards behind them stop as well. Zuko looks at her expectantly.

“Do you forgive her?” she asks.

“What?”

“Do you forgive her? Knowing everything that she’s done, both to you and to your friends, to Ty Lee and I? To the world?”

Zuko stays silent.

“I don’t expect you to know the answer to that,” Mai says in a more gentle tone. “But you didn’t see how cruel she was after you left. She was bad before, but after you were gone, Ozai started hyper-fixating on her. She was… different after that. She started treating us like…” She trails off. “Well. There’s more reason to Ty Lee leaving for the circus than just her sisters.”

When Zuko still doesn’t respond, Mai sighs, a familiar sound, but it has a note of something else in there.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” she continues. “I’m not saying that you _shouldn’t_ forgive her, because that isn’t my place to decide for you. But I am saying that, if it comes down to it, you should prioritize yourself. She has hurt you enough already. I don’t want you suffering at her hands anymore.”

Zuko opens his mouth, then closes it, hesitating. His hair, pulled up into a top knot that barely holds because his hair is still so short, feels uncomfortably tight against his scalp. He suddenly regrets not changing into something less bulky and formal.

“I don’t know if I forgive her,” he says, and it feels like the most honest thing he has said all day. “I just know that I want to. It’s okay if you don’t want to forgive her. I just know that-- that I know I want to be able to. And I want you to be able to, eventually.”

Mai nods. “No more silence after this,” she says, squeezing his waist. They start walking again. “You promised. You can’t keep everything bottled up inside all of the time. I’m your girlfriend, Zuko. You’re supposed to talk to me. And, in case I didn’t make it clear, I’m on your side for this. So, just… talk to me.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t do it again.”

The guards at the front of the prison open the heavy metal doors for them. Zuko steps inside, Mai at his side and guards at his back. The doors clang shut behind them.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” someone says. Zuko glances up from Mai’s hand intertwined with his to see a severe looking middle-aged woman in front of him. She has the uniform of a captain and holds herself with the air of someone used to possessing authority. She bows, making the sign of the flame.

“My name is Captain Chen,” she says. “I am in charge of the section of the prison that your sister is in.”

Zuko bows back, though he makes sure to keep his bow at a smaller angle than Captain Chen’s was. He learned the hard way that people don’t tend to respond well to the literal Fire Lord bowing at the same height as them. Even the fact that he bows at all has raised some eyebrows.

“It’s good to meet you,” Zuko says. “How is she doing?”

Captain Chen blinks in surprise, but she reigns her expression in quickly. “Your sister has been… difficult,” she says. “She has made several attempts at an escape, but my unit quickly thwarted each of them. She was properly punished for her actions.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “Punished,” he echoes.

“Nothing major, my lord,” Captain Chen says quickly. “We are well aware of your orders to leave her unharmed. She was merely restrained.”

Zuko frowns slightly, but he nods. Mai squeezes his hand.

Captain Chen leads them down the hallway, presumably in the direction of Azula’s cell. The air feels cold in here, likely from the stone and metal making up the entirety of the building, and Zuko has yet to see a single window in the prison. He wonders if there is a window in Azula’s cell. He hopes that there is. He can’t believe that he didn’t bother to check earlier.

He really is a terrible brother.

Captain Chen stops in front of a small metal door. It is, by far, the most heavily guarded cell out of any of the other rooms along the hallway, with two guards on either side of the door and two across from it. Zuko feels Mai stiffen slightly at the sight, and he knows that the same thought has crossed her mind.

_What could she have done to warrant such heavy guarding?_

Captain Chen nods at the guards, who step aside as Zuko and Mai approach them.

“Would you like to go inside, Fire Lord?” asks Captain Chen. Zuko hesitates.

“Yes,” he says at last. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I would.”

Captain Chen unlocks the door, and Zuko starts forward. Mai quickly grabs his arm, before he can slip out of her grip, and he glances down at where her hand clenches his forearm with surprise. He looks back at Mai, into her dark eyes, and finds them swimming with worry.

“You owe her nothing,” she says. “Just remember that.”

Zuko looks away, but he nods. She’s right. He knows that she’s right, and he’s glad that she’s here to tell him the things that he wants to pretend are untrue.

“I’ll be okay,” he promises. Mai releases him, nodding, and Zuko reaches out and smooths the line between her eyebrows out, relaxing her frown into a more neutral expression.

Mai rolls her eyes. “Just go,” she mutters, cheeks flushing slightly pink. Zuko smiles.

He nods at Captain Chen, who opens the door without another word. The door creaks open loudly, and Zuko wonders if the hinges are kept unoiled in case of escape attempts. He looks into the room, lit only by a single torch on the wall.

Now or never.

Zuko steps into the room. The door shuts behind him with a metallic clang.

“Azula?” he asks.

For a moment, there’s complete silence. Then there’s a movement within the shadows of the cell, and Zuko’s eyes widen at the sight of his younger sister.

If she was unhinged at the Agni Kai, he doesn’t know what to call this.

Her skin is pale, too pale, and it looks even paler in the darkness and framed by her uneven, matted black hair. There is a blurred, wild look in her gold eyes, eyes that are rimmed with red, as though she had just been crying. The thought alarms Zuko.

And there is no window in her cell.

_Shit._

“Hello, Zuzu,” Azula says, lip curling, but Zuko hardly notices her scathing tone, because her voice is so _hoarse_ , and he’s remembering how she laughed and screamed and sobbed at the Agni Kai, and he wonders if that is how she has been spending her days in this cell.

He should’ve come sooner. He should’ve come much, much sooner. He has no excuses.

She needs him.

Zuko sits down, cross-legged, on the ground in front of Azula. She’s got her back against the wall, squeezed into the corner, and is looking at Zuko with a mixture of suspicion and something else, something that he doesn’t really want to pinpoint. It’s the closest that the two of them have been in a peaceful setting since… Well, since the Day of Black Sun. After that, they were always fighting.

Zuko might’ve taken more note of the significance of this if they weren’t sitting in a literal prison with a wall of metal bars between the two of them.

“They say that you’ve been made Fire Lord,” Azula drawls before Zuko can speak. She looks down at Zuko, her head tilted back against the wall. “Is that true?”

Zuko hesitates, unsure of what her reaction will be. “Yes,” he says.

“And what of our dearest uncle?”

Zuko frowns, confused. This conversation is not going at all how he expected. “Um, he went back to Ba Sing Se about a week ago. He reopened his tea shop.”

Azula laughs, and yes, this is more like what he was expecting. It’s quieter than it had been all of those weeks ago, but it is just as cutting, just as horrible to hear.

“Oh, Zuko,” sighs Azula, lifting her head from the wall to look him straight in the eye. “You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

Zuko glances behind him at the closed door, just to make sure that the guards are still on the other side. “I don’t know if I understand you,” he says carefully.

“Well, I don’t think that you’re paying a visit to the only family member you can talk to for nothing,” says Azula, and she’s somehow managed to hit the nail right on the head, the nail that Zuko didn’t even know was there in the first place.

He blinks. Azula smirks.

And this, _this_ also feels familiar. Zuko is used to Azula knowing more than him, even when it comes to his own head. It’s both comforting and unnerving to know that that much is the same.

“Mother has already been in here to gloat,” says Azula, letting her head thud back against the wall again as her face falls into a more lazy expression. She looks at Zuko from the side of her vision, an eyebrow raised. “She’s been quite annoying.”

Any hope that Zuko might have had over the course of their conversation regarding Azula’s mental state of being evaporates instantly.

“Mother?” echoes Zuko. “She’s-- Azula, you know that she’s still missing, right?”

He heard servants talking about Azula’s breakdown in the palace just before her coronation, but he’d dismissed their talk of her hallucinations of Ursa as just that: talk. But Azula looks and sounds deadly serious.

“Oh, that hasn’t stopped her,” Azula says dismissively. “And she’s not missing; she’s dead. Father never would’ve allowed her to go off alive after what she did to Grandfather.”

Zuko suppresses a flinch. He’s tried not to think about what Ozai told him on the Day of Black Sun. “Vicious, treasonous things,” he’d said, and Zuko instantly knew what he was implying, but he refused to give it any more thought than was necessary. He still hasn’t. Azula, on the other hand, clearly has.

“I don’t think so,” says Zuko. Azula’s face doesn’t change, but he can see her shoulders tense slightly. “He told me that she left. That doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

Azula scoffs, straightening up. She looks directly at Zuko, her eyes wide and volatile. Zuko holds her gaze.

“She’s dead,” she spits. “Why are you even here? You knew that telling me that would make me like this, didn’t you? You know that I’ve been seeing her everywhere since that damn Agni Kai, and you know that she’s out to get me! You know that she’s trying to kill me, and you’re going to help her, aren’t you?!”

“Azula--” His heart is breaking, it is shattering, it _hurts--_

“No, no, _no_ ,” Azula hisses, shaking her head violently. She stands up so quickly that Zuko stands as well, purely out of reflex. She’s pacing in her cell, hands digging into her scalp as she tangles her fingers into her hair, and her hair had always been so perfect all the time, even in the heat of battle, but it is a knotted, snarled mess now. “I thought you were too weak for any of that, Zuzu, but I suppose I underestimated you. I won’t be doing that again. Unless Mother has tricked you into doing it? She told that Water Tribe peasant how to defeat me, after all, and I thought she was as pitiful as that boyfriend of hers, the _Avatar_ , so strong yet so _weak--_ ”

“Azula!” Zuko snaps.

“And now our beloved uncle has abandoned you,” laughs Azula, which causes Zuko’s hands to clench the fabric of his robes. “I thought he, of all people, would stay by your side, at least take the throne for a few years, but he’s left you all alone, hasn’t he? I suppose that he’s been selfless enough, babysitting you for the past three years. You really have been a terrible nephew, you know.”

“I know,” Zuko says quietly, because he does.

“But no more terrible than he’s been to me,” Azula says dismissively, and, bizarrely, Zuko gets the impression that she’s trying to comfort him, “or I to him. No more terrible than Mother has been to me, either, even in death.”

“She’s not dead,” snaps Zuko. He’s surprised his fingers haven’t torn the fabric of his robes yet with how tightly he’s holding them.

Instead of screaming, like he expected, Azula stops pacing. A musing look expands over her gaunt features (and has she been eating at all?) as she slowly removes her hands from her hair.

“Perhaps not, dear brother,” she says, eyes drifting to the side. “She must’ve gotten here somehow, after all.”

 _Make up your mind!_ Zuko wants to shout, or maybe cry. _Do you think that she is real or not?_

Zuko was always the indecisive one, the one who never knew what he wanted or what he had to do until he’d made up his mind, but _Azula_. This indecision is something that she has never had; she has always known what she wants and has always known everything that was going on, but now she is here, in this cell, and Zuko doesn’t know who she is anymore.

No. That’s not quite true. He doesn’t need Toph here to tell him that.

She is his sister.

“Azula,” says Zuko. He hesitates for a moment, then gently places his hands on the bars of her cell. Azula glances at him, an eyebrow arched in contempt.

“Mother always liked you better,” she says quietly. She looks away from Zuko, lip beginning to curl again. “No wonder you’re so determined to believe that she’s alive.”

“Mother loved you, too,” Zuko says, and even he knows how weak that sounds. Azula throws her head back and laughs, but it comes out all wrong and hoarse and raw as though she’s strained her throat.

“Oh, Zuzu.” Azula walks forward, abruptly throwing her hands up against the bars of the cell. Zuko refuses to flinch as she leans forward. “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long if you still believe that.”

Zuko’s eyes catch on a stain of red on Azula’s arms that doesn’t quite match the rest of her sleeves. As she tightens her fists around the bars of her cell, her sleeves shift slightly, and Zuko feels himself take a sharp intake of breath.

There are two large rings burned into the skin circling her wrists.

“Did they do that to you?” Zuko asks. His tone has grown cold, hard, and he meets Azula’s gaze without faltering.

Azula laughs again. “So you _can_ act like a Fire Lord,” she says. “People will take you more seriously if you talk like that all the time. But if you haven’t killed Father and I yet, you’re still weak.”

“Azula,” Zuko says sharply. “Answer the question.”

“They chained me up,” Azula says casually, shrugging. She examines her fingernails in a bored manner, and, for a moment, Zuko can almost picture her back in Fire Nation armor with the Fire Princess’ crown on her head, a proud smirk on her face and cold fire in her calculated gaze. Then she looks at Zuko, and he sees how unstable her expression is, and the image shatters. “I told them I would melt the cuffs to get out, but they didn’t believe me.”

“What a surprise,” mutters Zuko, but there’s anger boiling inside of him.

“Yes, yes, _Azula always lies,_ ” she mocks, rolling her eyes. She smiles, lips curling upwards, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I really don’t, though. The truth usually hurts more. I don’t know why you always say that.”

“You lie sometimes,” Zuko says, but now he’s embarrassed. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, that’s not-- That’s not why I’m here. None of this is why I’m here. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“How I’m doing?” Azula blinks.

“Yeah,” says Zuko.

He pauses, suddenly very aware of the ridiculousness of his words. Azula doesn’t seem to know what to say, either.

Then she rolls her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous,” she says. “I’m in a prison cell, Zuzu. I don’t think that that’s the kind of question you ought to be asking a prisoner, especially one who doesn’t think you deserve your spot on the throne.”

“You’re my sister,” says Zuko. He seems to be saying that a lot lately, like he’s trying to remind himself as much as he is everyone else.

“But we’re not family,” Azula says, and her voice has gone quieter, a little softer at the edges. She sits down so that her back faces him. “Dum-dum.”

And Zuko’s heart breaks just a little bit more.

“I--” Zuko lets go of the bars. He takes a step back, suddenly unable to look at Azula, because there’s emotion, fucking _emotion,_ rising up inside of him, and he’ll be damned before he lets himself cry in front of Azula, especially while she’s like this. “I’m not going to let you stay in here any longer, Azula.”

“You’re letting me go?” Azula scoffs. “That’s just stupid.”

“I’m going to put you somewhere else soon,” Zuko says. He glances at Azula’s wrists again, and he sets his jaw. “Somewhere where you can get help. I don’t want you to rot in here. You’re not like Ozai.”

“And how, dearest brother,” Azula says, and she tilts her head back all the way to meet his gaze, “do you know that?”

_Because you’re my sister. Because you’re fourteen years old. Because Ozai hurt you, and I don’t know how much, but he twisted you up into something I know that you’re not. Because you don’t know how to fail, and you don’t know that failure is okay. Because I’m your brother. Because we’re family, even if you don’t want to acknowledge that._

_Because you don’t know what love should feel like._

“Because,” says Zuko. “I just do.”

He starts to turn away. But then there’s a sound, a sound that Zuko would recognize in his sleep, and out of instinct, he ducks, and he ducks just in time to avoid the blue fireball that explodes into the wall, right where Zuko’s head had been a heartbeat before.

Of course their interaction couldn’t have ended on a somewhat good note.

Azula is on her feet, her eyes flashing. She looks genuinely insane with her tangled hair, wild, bloodshot eyes, and the tears and burns in her clothes that Zuko can’t believe he didn’t notice before. She lifts her hand, and Zuko just barely dodges the second fireball. It sears the end of his robes instead, and he can smell the acrid smoke in the air as he lifts his head.

And Azula _laughs._

Zuko freezes.

He stares at Azula, her uneven laughter ringing in his ears, watching her hands find her head again as she grips chunks of her hair, her breathing turning into shallow gasps as her laughter grows louder and louder.

“Azula!” Zuko shouts, and there’s desperation in his voice, but Azula’s face contorts, and she sends another blast of fire in his direction.

 _“Get out!”_ she screams, and an arc of fire slashes through the air with her hand. It’s nowhere near as measured and calculated as her fire used to be, but it’s still blue, and it’s still dangerously hot, and Zuko wants to tell her not to waste her energy in a room where she doesn’t get any sunlight, but then she’s screaming, _screaming_ at him to get out, and he can’t just ignore that. Not when she sounds so panicked beneath her anger, and Zuko wonders if it has always been that way; if she’s always hidden her emotion with cool calculation, and now that she can no longer maintain that coldness, if she’s turned to the same solution that Zuko did after his banishment. Anger to hide everything else.

So he listens to her. Even if he doesn’t want to, he listens, because he wishes that someone would’ve listened even _once_ in those three years of his banishment, but they only heard the shouting and never the things he left unsaid.

Zuko pauses, nods once, and leaves the cell.

He can still hear her screaming when the door is closed, but he doesn’t know if they are just echoes or if she is so loud that her voice is piercing through the metal door. He’s breathing those slow, steady breaths that Uncle taught him how to do, but his pulse is still fast, too fast, and his lungs are tight, and--

“Zuko?”

Mai.

Her hands are on his arms, and she looks so concerned, so gentle, and it’s so different from Azula’s rage that he doesn’t understand the expression at first. It’s only for a moment, but it’s scary.

Katara was right. He doesn’t know how he would’ve been if he’d come here alone.

(He reminds himself to hug her the next time he sees her.)

“Hi,” he whispers. His eyes are starting to burn, so he quickly pulls Mai into a hug, burying his face into her shoulder to hide it. Her hands lay flat on his back as she holds him, and Zuko relaxes under her touch, feeling his heartbeat begin to slow to something normal again.

“Hi,” Mai whispers back. “Are you okay?”

“Mm. I’m tired.”

“Okay. We’re going home now.”

“Okay.”

Zuko pulls away from her, his eyes miraculously and mercifully dry. His eyes land on Captain Chen, standing off awkwardly to the side, and he suddenly remembers Azula’s wrists, burned red and raw.

Captain Chen, to her credit, doesn’t flinch as Zuko’s eyes harden as they make eye contact.

“You chained her up,” says Zuko, and Mai takes a step back so that she doesn’t stand between the two of them. “You said that you didn’t hurt her.”

“We didn’t, Fire Lord--”

“Then why--” Zuko closes his eyes. He reopens them. “Then why,” he repeats, calmer this time, “were there burn marks on her wrists?”

“My lord--”

“She told you that she would melt the cuffs off,” he says, “but you didn’t believe her. Did anyone even treat her wounds?”

“Your Majesty, we took the cuffs off before she could melt them all the w--”

Zuko holds up a hand. His temper is rising dangerously close to the surface, but he is _not_ going to start yelling, because he’s not in charge of a small crew on a ship in the middle of the ocean anymore; he’s in charge of the Fire Nation, and he can’t afford to get as angry as he wants to right now. He kept it together with Governor Ito. He can keep it together here.

“I want her moved into a cell with a window until I make a more permanent decision regarding how she will be taken care of,” says Zuko coldly, his tone holding all of the authority that a Fire Lord should have, and Azula’s words to him echo in his head (and he wonders if Ozai sounded like this, but even if he wanted to know, he can’t even hear his own voice properly; his ears are ringing and his heart is like thunder in his chest). Captain Chen opens her mouth, but Zuko gives her a withering stare that causes her to fall silent. “Treat her wrists. Don’t touch her like that again. If something like this happens again, I will personally see to your punishment.”

Zuko has never felt more like a Fire Lord than he does in this moment.

And he hates it.

He doesn’t bother staying to see Captain Chen’s reaction. He walks right out of the prison, Mai right by his side, and his personal guard behind him.

“That,” says Mai, once they’re outside and far out of the hearing range of the guards by the door, “was kind of hot.”

Zuko stops dead in his tracks, any trace of his anger and the spiral that he was no doubt about to fall into evaporating immediately out of pure shock, and stares at Mai. She gives him that slight, teasing smile of hers, nudging his arm slightly, and keeps walking. Zuko shakes himself back to reality and hurries to catch up. His guards pick up the pace to keep up with them.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

“But it cheered you up.”

“It did.”

Zuko pulls her closer to him, hand on her waist, and Mai puts her head on his shoulder, slipping her hand into his.

“Talk to me,” she murmurs.

“I…” Zuko breathes in deeply, letting the summer air flood his lungs, and exhales. “I don’t know what I was expecting. She’s just so different, Mai. I hardly recognized her. I don’t think you would’ve, either. She was always so put together and composed, all the time, and now she’s… not.”

They walk in silence for a little while.

“Her fire is still blue,” Zuko says, breaking it at last. “Her movements aren’t as precise as before, but she hasn’t lost the power behind them.”

Mai snorts. “Azula would die before she let her fire turn orange,” she says. “Like my knives, like your scar, it’s just her thing.”

Mai is the only person who can bring up Zuko’s scar in a way that doesn’t make him want to start crying or screaming or set something on fire. He actually laughs at her comment, instead, and he relishes in the satisfied smile that creeps on Mai’s face at the sound.

“Do you remember when we were young,” says Zuko, and they’re climbing up the steps of the palace now, “when Ty Lee and Azula tricked me into tackling you, and we fell into the fountain?”

“Oh, Agni,” groans Mai. “Why are you bringing that up now?”

“And remember,” Zuko continues, ignoring her comment, “when we were in the streets of Ba Sing Se after Azula and Ty Lee tried to get us back together? You made Jin throw that icicle at the fish on my head, and I fell into _another_ fountain.”

“Her name was Jin?” asks Mai drily. She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe that your cover story was _juggling._ Why didn’t you say sword-swallowing or something? She wouldn’t have asked you to swallow someone’s sword.”

Zuko flushes red. “I wasn’t thinking, okay? But that’s not the point.” Zuko squeezes Mai’s hand. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about Azula. Even if her motivations were… questionable--”

"That’s a massive understatement.”

“--she was the first person to actually see the two of us as a couple. And she was the person to bring us together. Both times.”

Mai is silent for a moment, and at first, Zuko thinks that he’s massively screwed up, because it would be far from the first time that he’s done that.

But then Mai looks at him, and she’s smiling slightly.

“You’re right,” she says. “I guess I have Azula to thank for this, then.”

She grabs Zuko’s face, pulling him towards her, and gently presses her lips against his. Zuko barely has time to register how warm her lips feel, how safe he feels with her hands on his face, holding him like he’s _delicate_ , something worthy of love, and he’s missed this so, _so_ much-- before she pulls away.

Mai smirks at the expression on his face. She pats his shoulder, continuing up the steps as though nothing had happened.

“H--hey!” Zuko shouts. He touches his lips, then his cheeks, and is mortified to find that both are hot to the touch. “You can’t just-- You can’t do that and _leave!”_

“Hurry up, then,” Mai calls over her shoulder. “You’re the one just standing there.”

So Zuko hurries up the steps, flustered, and grumbles something at Mai that makes her laugh and poke his shoulder playfully. They walk back to the palace, trading stories about their childhood, and Azula shows up more than once in the scenes they tell. Zuko tells Mai about the time that Azula fell into the turtleduck pond when she was nine and stormed back into her room, soaking wet, and blamed the water on Zuko, and it really isn’t that funny of a story, but Zuko can hardly get any of the words out for how hard he’s laughing, and that just causes Mai to laugh at Zuko, and then they’re both doubled over in the halls of the palace, gasping for breath and choking on laughter. And once they’ve finally calmed down, suddenly Mai _hiccups,_ and then they’re both in tears, weak with laughter again.

He can’t remember the last time he has laughed like this. He can’t remember ever hearing Mai laugh like this.

(And this is how laughter should sound, a sound of pure joy, not the desperation and fear hidden in Azula’s, but Zuko has no way of telling this to her, and has he ever heard Azula laugh like this? He must’ve, when they were children, but he doesn’t remember. Perhaps she never did.)

Mai goes back to Zuko’s room to make sure that he doesn’t do any work, because they both know that he’s in absolutely no shape to be doing anything major in the state that he’s in, and Zuko lets himself be distracted, for once. He lies down on the bed with Mai, watching her throw knives up at the top of his bed as he plays with her glossy black hair, and each one lands with a satisfying thud in the wood, forming the beat to their lazy, playful conversation.

“I’m glad you were there with me,” Zuko says once there’s a lull, and he doesn’t need to elaborate. He can tell that Mai knows by the way she pauses mid-throw, knife perfectly balanced on her fingers, and looks at him. She pauses.

Then she leans over, probably to peck his cheek, but Zuko turns his head so that her lips graze his instead. She blinks in surprise, then leans forward.

“Love you, too,” she murmurs.

In that instant, in that very moment, the moment that Mai rests her chest on Zuko’s chest and breathes a sigh, eyes fluttering shut, the glint of her knives shining beneath the corner of her sleeve, Zuko makes a decision. A promise.

He will do whatever it takes to bring his sister home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading, as always <3
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	6. floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko isn't sleeping, tries to get help for Azula, and goes to Ba Sing Se. Azula is... not having a great time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW BELOW!! I'm putting it at the bottom so that you can skip it if you want to go in totally blind.  
> Anyways, this chapter is a big one. Really big. Much bigger than it was supposed to be. It goes from cute sleepy bonding to decidedly not cute, very awake violence. I had a lot of trouble with this one, but I think it came out,, okay? I hope so, at least.
> 
> CW Zuko's part: about halfway down the first section, he admits that he hasn't been eating properly.  
> CW Azula's part: There's a brief sentence that borders on suicidal ideation in the paragraph where Azula is having a low key panic attack (the paragraph starts with "Sato is watching her" and ends with "a dull throb in her head" - it comes right after "Who are these people?"), just in case you want to skip it. There's also the forceful use of a syringe and a gag (and a straitjacket, kind of, but it's only mentioned).

In the days after his visit to Azula, Zuko stops sleeping again.

Which isn’t new. He’s used to functioning on low levels of sleep. It was the norm on a boat in the middle of the ocean, being constantly woken by crashing waves or the grumbles of the men in the rooms around him, and he was so tortured by thoughts of the Avatar and his father that sleep eventually became a luxury he could never afford. It was impossible to get a full night of rest as a refugee, and it definitely didn’t become easier when he joined “Team Avatar,” as Sokka calls it, because no one was trusting him and he didn’t trust them, and then the moment everyone was fine with him, they went to Ember Island. And Zuko definitely wasn’t going to catch a wink in his family’s old vacation home, not with all of the memories hidden within the walls.

So, really, the last time he actually slept well was… Perhaps that time in Ba Sing Se in the apartment above Uncle’s tea shop. The dreams weren’t great, but he had certainly slept for more than a few hours, and he’d woken up feeling refreshed.

He can’t afford to waste time on things like sleeping and eating now, though, with the amount of work that he has to do. Katara’s voice is constantly in the back of his head, demanding that he take care of himself, but it grows quieter and quieter as the realization of the sheer amount of power that Zuko holds begins to settle in with each passing day.

Zuko is the Fire Lord, as Toph so kindly reminded him, and he has all the power that comes with one. He has advisors and ministers and generals, of course, but in the end, he is the one that makes the final decision, and, technically speaking, no one can do anything to stop him.

And that terrifies him. There is no one there to catch him if he falls, no one to let him know if he is doing the right thing or not. Zuko’s only measure of judgement is his own, and he doesn’t trust himself enough to know if he is doing the right thing. He, selfishly, wishes Uncle were here. His time spent out of the palace is all too clear as he constantly fumbles tradition and formalities, the two things that the Fire Nation loves the most. Uncle would never do that.

But he deserves his quiet. Zuko knows this, and he will die before he bothers him with politics and war.

He knows what Ozai would say. He’d call Zuko weak, a pathetic excuse for a man, and Zuko would agree with him.

Zuko groans quietly, letting his head fall into his hands. Spirits, he’s _tired._ He has a feeling that the lack of sleep isn’t doing anything to help this spiral that he’s beginning to fall into. But even if he wanted to sleep, he doesn’t know if he could. Every time he tries to lie down and fall asleep, he finds himself more awake than before, tossing and turning and thinking about everything that he could be doing.

Zuko’s eyes dart to the candle beside him, flickering steadily in the rhythm of his breathing, and then back to the scroll in front of him. The words on the page swim in his vision, but he rubs his eyes, determined to get through it before he makes another vague attempt at packing again.

He really should start packing soon.

His door opens, slowly and quietly, as Zuko sighs again, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple in frustration. He glances up, annoyed at the disturbance, but the expression melts right off of his face as Mai slides into the room, carefully shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“Good morning, Zuko,” she says quietly, hands slipping over his shoulders as she gently presses a kiss on his head. Zuko lets himself relax a little, shoulders slumping as he leans back in his chair.

“Is it morning already?” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “It’s still dark out.”

“You should get some rest.” Mai’s fingers graze the back of his neck. “The sun won’t be rising for another few hours. Your guards told me that you’ve been up all night.”

“Traitors,” mutters Zuko, but his heart isn’t in it. “They let you in?”

“Of course. They love me.”

Zuko turns around in his chair so that he straddles the back of it, looking up at Mai with his chin resting on the top of the chair. Her hair is down from its usual buns, framing her sharp features in a way that makes her look softer, somehow. He reaches up to run his hand through it, but Mai catches his wrist before he can, arching an eyebrow at him.

“You can play with my hair after you get into bed,” she says. “I’m not leaving until you sleep.”

“Are you going to get into bed with me?”

He blames it on sleep deprivation. Fully-rested Zuko would never have said something like that.

Mai rolls her eyes so hard that he’s surprised her head doesn’t fall off. “Shut up, idiot,” she says, but the corners of her lips are pulling upwards. “I’m not going to do anything if you don’t go to bed now.”

Zuko’s smile slides off of his face as he shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder at the stacks of papers riddling his desk. “I can’t,” he says. “I have so much work to do.”

“You can’t fix the world in a single night, Zuko,” Mai says. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m the Fire Lord,” says Zuko, closing his eyes and letting his forehead drop onto the top of the chair. “It’s my job.”

 _And?_ a voice in his head prompts. Zuko hesitates.

_She told you to talk to her._

“And I…” Zuko lifts his head, not looking at Mai. “I keep thinking that I have to be doing something productive. There’s so much to do, and I’m the only one who can and should fix the problems in the world because almost all of them were caused by the Fire Nation.”

He pauses. “Sleeping and eating feel like wastes of time,” he admits quietly.

“You haven’t been eating, either?” Mai asks exasperatedly. Her gaze softens slightly when Zuko nods once, shortly.

Mai sighs. She takes Zuko’s hand into her own, tugging at him to stand up. He resists, at first, but Mai is strong enough that he eventually lets himself be pulled to his feet. She all but drags him into his bed, blowing out the candle as Zuko slumps into the mattress, lying on his stomach with his cheek pressed into the pillow.

“I need to work,” mumbles Zuko as Mai lies down beside him, face turned towards him, and he knows that he isn’t convincing her in the slightest. “I’ve got so much to read before I go to Ba Sing Se. I can’t show up and not know anything about-- about anything.”

“You’re so eloquent.”

“I know.”

Zuko blinks his eyes open. Mai is looking at him with soft, dark eyes, the look that he has only ever seen her use with him. She looks at everyone with a hint of steel over a guise of boredom, but she doesn’t look at him like that. Not since they got back together after the Comet. She is open and raw and honest with him, and Zuko wants to be able to return that same vulnerability one day. He’s trying.

“I know,” says Mai, and it occurs to Zuko, somewhere in his tired, tired mind, that he might’ve said that last part out loud. “I know you’re trying. That’s all that matters.”

“You’re all that matters,” Zuko thinks he says, but his eyes are fluttering shut.

He can practically see her eye roll. “You’re so annoying,” she says, and he can hear her fighting a smile. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me.”

“I hate you less than I hate everyone else.”

Zuko opens his eyes again with the full intent and purpose of seeing Mai’s smile. He isn’t disappointed. He smiles back, sleepily and not quite to his eyes, but then Mai takes his hand, scooting closer to him, and he’s suddenly blinking quite stupidly like he’s a kid (he’s still a kid; they’re all still kids) all over again, quietly crushing on a girl who he doubted even cared that he existed.

“Hi,” she whispers, and he knows that she feels it, too.

“Hi,” he rasps back. “If this is a trick to make me happy enough to fall asleep, it’s working.”

Mai smirks. “Good.”

She tugs him closer so that his head rests on her arm, their bodies pressed closely together. Zuko curls up closer to Mai, and she pulls the blankets up over them without a word.

“Thank you,” murmurs Zuko.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

And he does.

\---

Azula is moved to a cell with a window the morning after Zuko’s visit to her. He receives an official confirmation in paper two days later. Not that it was needed; the expressions of the guards and the silence following his anger was confirmation enough that it would happen.

He wants nothing more than to move Azula back into the palace, but that would be both naive and stupid to do. He needs a different solution, to move Azula somewhere that isn’t the prison but isn’t somewhere that she can hurt anyone.

And there’s really only one place that that can be.

Zuko extends an invitation for the head psychiatrist at the palace’s institution to join him whenever she is free this week.

\---

The week leading up to Zuko’s trip to Ba Sing Se for the peace talks is the longest week of his life.

First, he tells his ministers that he will not be bringing any of them with him to the Earth Kingdom, which goes over about as well as he expected. It takes half an hour for him to even be able to get a word in to explain his reasoning, by which point no one is listening to him (not that they ever are), and everyone is pissed off at him. Zuko could care less about what his ministers think of him, especially since most of them are definitely still loyal to Ozai and resist every single effort that Zuko makes to reaffirm the war’s end, but things would admittedly be easier if they were on his side.

“I don’t know why,” Zuko says in a brief lull in the shouting, unable to keep the cutting sarcasm out of his tone as everyone looks at him, head resting in his hand in an attempt to quell a growing headache as he glares out at his ministers, “but I somehow think that perhaps _this_ is why I don’t want to take any of you.”

(He says it because he’s still Zuko and he’s still a teenager, even if he’s also the Fire Lord, and Zuko the teenager has almost never fully censored his anger.)

The shouting, if anything, only gets louder. It doesn’t help his headache at all.

But he does manage to convince them to make Toph an ambassador from Gaoling, which he has a feeling they mostly agreed to out of confusion. She isn’t Fire Nation, so technically Zuko doesn’t have the power to make her an ambassador from a place in the Earth Kingdom, but he maneuvered his way through enough loopholes and formalities to get it through. If anyone has a problem, they can just bring it up with Toph.

Zuko very much hopes that someone brings it up with Toph. He could use the laugh.

Second, Zuko receives a response from both Water Tribes. Chief Hakoda’s letter comes first, a rather long, friendly letter inquiring after Zuko’s health that confirms that the Southern Water Tribe will be present in Ba Sing Se for peace negotiations. It is a casual letter, a sight that is welcome to Zuko’s eyes after having stared at so many official, formally written documents. He stares at the places where Hakoka refers to him as _son_ a little longer than necessary, even knowing that he calls anyone remotely close to Sokka’s age his son.

The letter from the Northern Water Tribe, written by Chief Arnook, is much briefer and colder. Zuko isn’t surprised, especially after the events of the Siege of the North. He sends a similar response back to both tribes expressing his pleasure at their answers, though his message to Chief Hakoda is admittedly much warmer.

And third.

Azula.

It happens the day before he leaves for Ba Sing Se. He’s in his room, practically drowning in scrolls and documents in preparation for the peace talks (and he hasn’t even started packing yet, dear spirits, he hasn’t even started _packing)_ , when someone knocks once on the door.

“Yes?” Zuko says, not looking up from his papers. The door opens, and one of the guards, a young man named Eiji, pokes his head inside.

“Doctor Sato is outside, sir,” he says. His eyes scan over Zuko’s desk, not an inch of bare wood visible beneath the sheer volume of paperwork and readings. They flick back up to meet Zuko’s gaze. “Shall I tell her that you are busy?”

Zuko sighs, closing his eyes in lieu of touching his forehead in frustration since his hands are covered in ink. He leans back in his chair, fighting back a yawn. “No, that’s alright. Send her in.”

Eiji hesitates. “Sir,” he says, carefully, “I can ask her to return after your journey to Ba Sing Se. You need to sleep before the negotiations, Your Majesty. Whatever it is you have to do, I’m sure that it can wait.”

Zuko gives him as piercing a look as he can manage with his eyes heavy with sleep. “Did Mai put you up to this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, sir, she didn’t,” says Eiji. “I was just concerned.”

Zuko blinks. Eiji doesn’t.

“Oh,” says Zuko. He blinks a few more times in confusion, looking away. “Um… Thank you. You can send her in.”

Eiji nods. He opens the door wider, and a small, hunched woman with greying hair and deep wrinkles, dressed in formal red robes with the medical symbol of the palace stitched in gold on the front, enters the room. Zuko pushes his chair back, standing up, and the door closes behind her.

“Doctor Sato,” Zuko says.

“Fire Lord Zuko.” Doctor Sato bows, forming the flame with her hands. She smiles at him kindly as she straightens up. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” says Zuko, returning the smile. He gestures to a chair, inclining his head slightly. “Please.”

Zuko takes his seat once more as Doctor Sato lowers herself into the chair with a sigh, legs crossed and hands folded. She glances at Zuko’s long-suffering desk for a brief moment, but her eyes are back on Zuko in the next instant, her expression unreadable.

“In the interest of time, I’d like to get right to the point,” says Zuko. He shifts slightly in his seat, suddenly aware of how casually he is dressed in comparison to Doctor Sato. Even if he hadn’t known she would be coming at such a late hour, it feels disrespectful. But she doesn’t seem to mind, so Zuko forces himself not to care, either. “You are the head psychiatrist at the palace institution, correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Doctor Sato, nodding. “I have served at the palace for a total of thirty years, and I have been the head psychiatrist for ten of those years.”

“You would consider yourself skilled, then?”

“Of course,” Doctor Sato says with a smile. Zuko allows himself a small, barely audible sigh of relief.

“Good,” he says. “I have a request for you, then, if that would be alright.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“Would you be able to take care of my sister, Princess Azula?”

Doctor Sato’s smile freezes on her face. She quickly wipes it away, but not before Zuko sees the brief flash of panic in her eyes.

“Princess Azula,” she repeats slowly, and Zuko knows that she’s thinking of the Fire Lord to-be who decimated the population of servants in the palace in a single day. Perhaps Sato knew people who were impacted by those banishments. Zuko reversed all of them, of course, but many did not come back, whether from fear or because they fled, he isn’t sure.

“Yes,” says Zuko, and he suddenly feels the need to defend his request and his sister. “She is fourteen years old, Doctor Sato. She’s my family. I want her to get better.”

Doctor Sato nods briskly, any trace of doubt gone. “I would be honored to help you, Your Majesty,” she says, bowing her head. “I will personally make sure that she is taken out of the prison and into our institution tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, actually…” Zuko trails off.

He was hoping that Doctor Sato would come earlier so that he would be able to make sure that Azula was settling into the institution well. But his trip to Ba Sing Se is tomorrow, and he can’t very well ask that Azula be kept in prison for any longer than she has to be.

“That would be wonderful,” he says. “I trust you will take care of her.”

“We will, Fire Lord Zuko.” Doctor Sato stands, and Zuko stands as well. “Please do not worry about her during your time in Ba Sing Se. We will make sure that she gets the best treatment that the Fire Nation can offer.”

“Thank you,” says Zuko. The two bow to each other _(keep it higher than hers, Zuko, higher than hers)_ , and Doctor Sato leaves the room.

Zuko breathes once the door is shut behind her.

For the first time, he feels a little bit of hope.

\---

Except then he stays up all night packing and reading treaties, laws, and proposals.

He falls into a little bit of a language rabbit hole towards the end of his night (or the beginning of his morning), reading various texts in different languages to brush up on Earth and both the Southern and Northern forms of Water, the languages of the respective kingdoms. Fire became the commonly used language after the Fire Nation started its rampage across the entire world, but Zuko has a feeling that these treaties will not be written in Fire, even if it is the language that everyone speaks. It would remind everyone a little too much of the atrocities the Fire Nation committed and the colonies that still exist.

So Zuko doesn’t sleep the night before Ba Sing Se. The night before he goes to make potentially the most important decisions that he will ever have to make in his career as a Fire Lord, he doesn’t sleep.

Wonderful.

“You didn’t sleep,” says Mai, quite unnecessarily, as he walks down the dock to where she’s waiting. Zuko grimaces a little, well aware of the dark circles beneath his eyes and the gaunt look in his face.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

The large metal ship that will take Zuko and his guards to Ba Sing Se floats right at the end of the wooden dock. It’s not a warship, but the design is similar enough that Zuko dreads to see what the Earth Kingdom’s reaction will be to it. He hopes that they don’t shoot them down on sight.

It’s a warm day, punctuated by chill ocean breezes that smell of salt. Zuko closes his eyes, breathing its familiarity in. He might not know the palace, but he knows boats, and he knows the ocean. He just wishes he were in something less formal than full Fire Lord attire. It makes sense, politically and traditionally speaking, and getting dressed in all of this on a ship would not end well for anyone involved, but it’s ridiculously uncomfortable. And the silhouette it casts is unfortunately frightening, which is the last thing Zuko wants for _peace talks._

Zuko smiles, though, because Mai is here. “Are you fluent in formal Earth or either of the Water languages?” he asks. Mai stares.

“Uh,” she says, “I’m alright in Earth.”

“Perfect,” Zuko says. “You can come with me to Ba Sing Se. I’m terrible with Earth.”

“Zuko, you were a refugee in the Earth Kingdom. You’re fluent in Earth.”

“Not formal Earth,” says Zuko, which is a lie. “My ministers can’t argue if you come as a translator. Or a scribe. Or--”

“Zuko.” Mai takes both of his hands into hers. “No.”

Zuko sighs. “I know. But--”

“I’m going to visit Mother and Father and Tom-Tom,” Mai says, which causes Zuko to fall silent. “They've just arrived here in Caldera to figure out what they’re going to do. I haven’t seen them since… really, since I left Omashu with Azula and Ty Lee. I love you, Zuko, but I love them, too. And I miss them a lot.”

Zuko feels like the worst person in the world. He hadn’t even considered the fact that Mai hasn’t seen her family. It’s been weeks, and he’s been moping around about missing Uncle and wanting to help Azula while Mai has been apart from her own family for months.

Normal boyfriends don’t forget that their girlfriend has a family. Then again, normal boyfriends aren’t the Fire Lord, normal boyfriends don’t have a world waiting for him to screw up and start another war, and normal boyfriends probably get actual sleep at night.

But that isn’t an excuse.

“I know,” says Zuko softly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let you go earlier.”

“You don’t ‘let me’ do anything,” Mai says, poking his collarbone teasingly. “I do whatever I want. You know that.”

“Still,” says Zuko. “I’m sorry.”

Mai shakes her head. “I’m not going to let you fall into one of your spirals before you leave,” she says. “I’m not mad at you. My point is that this is something you have to do alone. These peace talks are going to be a really good display of your leadership. I don’t need to be there for that. You’re more than capable on your own, especially without those ministers to weigh you down.”

“I--” Zuko cuts himself off. Mai looks at him expectantly. He cuts a glance at his guards, making sure that they’re out of earshot, then looks back at Mai.

“I’m scared,” he says. “This is my first real test as a Fire Lord. The last time I was in Ba Sing Se, I… you know. I don’t know if anyone is going to listen to me or if they’re going to trust me at all, and the worst part is, if they start criticizing me, I don’t know if I’ll want to defend myself, because I’ll deserve it. And then my authority will be undermined, but no one is going to take a sixteen year old kid seriously in the first place, and--”

He stops as Mai pulls him into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around him. He freezes for a moment, heart racing out of some ingrained instinct to run, but eventually relaxes into her hold.

“It’s going to be okay,” says Mai into his shoulder, and her voice is so warm, so soft, that Zuko lets himself believe her. “You want to do the right thing, and you’re doing the right things. They’ll see that. You have a whole week to convince them of your honesty and your capabilities, and they’d be stupid not to trust you.”

“But I--”

Mai pulls him closer to her. “You trust me, right?”

“Right.”

“And you’re trying your best?”

“All the time.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Zuko really, really wants to cry, but his face probably looks bad enough from a sleepless night that he doesn’t, and he has a feeling that his guards don’t want to see their Fire Lord crying into his girlfriend’s arms. He blinks the tears away as Mai slowly pulls away to look him in the eyes.

She opens her mouth to say something, but then someone clears their throat at the end of the dock. They both jump away from each other, cheeks red as though they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing, avoiding eye contact. The captain of the ship stands before them, a faintly amused twinkle in his eyes.

Zuko desperately hopes that he didn’t hear anything he said.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says. “We will be departing for Ba Sing Se very shortly.”

“Understood,” Zuko says. “Just, uh, give me a minute.”

The captain smiles, bowing, and Zuko bows back. As he turns to walk back into the ship, Zuko and Mai make eye contact again. Mai’s cheeks are still slightly pink.

“You don’t want to be late,” she says pointedly. “Go. Don’t keep them waiting.”

“I’ll write,” Zuko promises.

“You’d better.”

“Have fun with your family.”

“Have fun with politics.”

They both smile.

“I’ll miss you,” says Zuko. “Don’t forget about me.”

“It’s only going to be a week.”

“Feels like it’ll be a year.”

Mai shakes her head, sighing. “I can’t believe I thought that you were cold and mysterious at one point,” she says. “You’re so sappy.”

“I’m not _sappy_ ,” Zuko protests indignantly. “You’re the one who’s always hugging me and telling me that you love me.”

“Do you want me to stop doing that?”

Zuko closes his mouth. Mai smirks.

“That’s what I thought.”

But then there’s a whistle from the ship, and Mai is hugging him, and Zuko presses a quick kiss to her forehead, and then he’s turning away from her, walking into the ship with his guards behind him, and Mai is waving, and Zuko waves back, and then the doors are shutting behind him, and their goodbye was too quick, too fast, and he has so much that he wishes he said _(thank you for helping me sleep, thank you for reminding me to eat, thank you for being here even when you didn’t have to be)_ that he just didn’t have time to, but he hopes that his touch was enough to convey at least part of what he was thinking.

And the ship starts moving for Ba Sing Se.

*****

Azula’s new cell has a window.

She hadn’t realized just how much the lack of sunlight had been affecting her until the sun rose the morning after she was put into the room. She wakes up each morning and meditates in front of the window, falling easily into a slow, measured breathing pattern, the rhythm being one that she has used since her childhood, and her inner flame responds. She hasn’t made another “escape” attempt since being moved to the cell. It just doesn’t seem that appealing anymore now that she has full access to sunlight.

(There are also now a total of ten guards stationed outside of her cell, all of them surrounding her door. Azula is not stupid enough to try and fight them all. She knows her own limits.)

But meditation is nice. It has never been a favorite activity of hers, seeing as she could always be doing better things with her time, but she can’t very well practice firebending forms in a space as small as this. So she meditates, if only to strengthen her chi.

She does so now, when the prison is still quiet.

Azula starts to fall away from the rest of the world, hardly hearing the metal door open behind her as a guard slips a bowl of jook into the room. She’s still aware of him, of course, because she knows that she should never let her guard down under any circumstances, but she doesn’t turn around.

She opens her eyes and feels like she could conquer Ba Sing Se again.

Hm. Apparently Zuko isn’t entirely useless, after all. Perhaps she should aggravate him more often, not just for entertainment’s sake.

“You’re being ungrateful,” says Mother, frowning at Azula. Somehow, Azula isn’t surprised to see her, and she doesn’t feel the need to set her on fire. She feels calmer than she has in weeks. “He’s being kind to you.”

“He hasn’t killed me yet,” Azula sighs, dramatically lounging back on her bed so that her head dangles off of the edge. She looks at Mother’s upside-down figure, the blood rushing to her head. “He doesn’t realize that that would be more of a kindness, and that makes him weak.”

She has said the word _weak_ so much in the past few days, both in reference to herself and to Zuko, that it no longer sounds like a word anymore.

“Your brother loves you--”

“My darling brother loves the _idea_ of what we _could’ve_ been,” Azula snaps, sitting up so quickly that she winces, clutching her suddenly pounding head, and she curses Mother inwardly for interrupting what could’ve been a genuinely peaceful day. “He’s been spending too much time with those two Water Tribe siblings, those sav--”

“Azula!”

Azula pauses, her hands loosening from her hair. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it so hard.

“You sound like Zuko,” she mutters, looking away. Zuko’s visit last week shook her up more than she’d like to admit, but she refuses to sit down and pick apart the reasons why. She should _know_ why, but she doesn’t, and she isn’t going to give it any more thought than she has to.

“That isn’t a bad thing, Azula,” says Mother softly. “You were always so wrapped up in your fear of failure and weakness that you have never stopped to consider those around you.”

“Shut up,” hisses Azula. “I don’t _fear_ anything.”

“Zuko is gentle, he is kind,” Mother continues, because of course she doesn’t listen, no one ever listens (except Zuko; Zuko listened when she screamed at him to leave, and Azula still isn’t sure how to feel about that). “You have that in you, too, Azula. I know you do.”

Azula shrieks, mostly out of frustration, and her hands find her hair again as she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head violently. She doesn’t notice that her palms are heating up until she smells the distinct scent of burning, and she pulls her hands out of her hair just in time. Still, as she runs a hand through her tangled locks, she can feel where the heat almost charred her hair.

And that’s… alarming. Alarming enough to quiet her anger.

She hasn’t lost control over her firebending like that since, well… _ever._ That was always Zuko, talking around licks of flames behind his tongue, causing the candles to flicker whenever he shouted. But Azula? Azula was never that weak, even as a child.

Mostly just to prove that she still can, Azula shoots a fireball into the wall across from her. It blasts a huge, splintered crater in the stone, smoking as the flames die out.

Well. The sunlight does help. She doesn’t feel drained at all.

After she was certain that Zuko had left the other day, Azula had just about collapsed onto her bed, trembling with exhaustion from all of the fire she’d produced. In her half-conscious state, she’d remembered reading something, years ago, on element deprivation in Fire Nation prisons, but it was always mentioned in reference to benders from other nations. Earthbenders on metal ships, waterbenders chained up before they could be given water (the airbenders were all killed before any could be imprisoned to that extent, but Azula wonders, she wonders). She knows that firebenders are administered various punishments to hurt their bending, such as the coolers at Boiling Rock, but never did she think that they would be deprived of the sun. Fire is the superior element, after all, and firebenders are superior to all other benders. She doesn’t understand why they would have to be subjected to the same cruel treatment that other, inferior benders experience.

Punishment is one thing. Element deprivation is another.

Azula is certain, though, that Zuko had no idea that there was no window in her cell. His eyes had narrowed at the sight of her windowless room, and she’d been hastily placed in a cell with a window the morning after his visit to her. It’s not hard to put the pieces together.

She has also heard of chi-blocking handcuffs, and she knows, now, from the guards’ ceaseless chattering outside of her door, that all of the firebenders in the prison get them. They are too close to the palace to risk anything.

Except Azula hasn’t gotten those handcuffs. Ever since the day she attempted to melt the chains off of her, no one has touched her beyond moving her to this new cell. Likely yet another weakness on Zuzu’s part. No wonder things have been so boring; Zuko is standing in the way. But, still - the fact that things like that are being used on _firebenders_ , holders of the superior element… 

Azula frowns. She’ll have to amend that clear flaw when she inevitably becomes the Fire Lord. After all, Zuko will fall eventually, likely from assassination if the fragments of whispers Azula has been hearing outside of her cell have any truth to them, and if Iroh has abdicated, Azula is the only real option.

She just has to be patient and wait.

“Do you really want your brother dead, Azula?”

Azula’s face falls. She tightens her hands around the bars of her cell, glancing to the side. Mother stands in front of the wall where she’d blasted the fireball through.

She’d forgotten she was still there.

“You’re still here,” she mutters, but she is certain that she hadn’t been there when she shot the fireball. “Why are you still here? Go away before I shoot you with lightning.”

(She hasn’t used her lightning since the Agni Kai, but Mother doesn’t have to know that.)

“You haven’t answered my question,” says Mother, and Azula feels her hands tighten even more, somehow, and they’re trembling with the force of her grip.

“Of course I want him dead,” Azula spits, but it doesn’t have the venom she intended it to have. She tries again. “I want him dead. He’s not fit for the throne.”

“And you are?”

Azula lets go of the bars, turning to face Mother fully. “Of course I am,” she snaps. “Father wanted me on the throne. I’m stronger than Zuko is; I’m better--”

“Do you even want the throne, Azula?”

Azula scoffs. “What kind of question is that, Mother? You’re losing your touch.”

Mother looks at her with her eyebrows tugged together in that false-sympathetic expression that Azula loathes. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Azula. I want to help you.”

This time, Azula doesn’t hesitate. She’s tired, she’s _so_ tired, and she’s angry. And she doesn’t want to hear any of this anymore, because this conversation is draining her for no clear reason, and Azula doesn’t like not knowing things.

But she knows lightning. And her mind is calmer than it has been since she was thrown into this prison.

Azula drags her fingers through the air, relishing in the cool quiet that soothes the raw, rough edges of her mind as the power surges through her. It has been too long, far too long. She feels the air crackling, the hair on the back of her head stand up, and she loves lightning for this reason, loves the knowledge that she is in total and complete control of an unbelievably powerful force, loves how it crackles against her skin and washes everything else away, because it’s just her and her lightning and Mother across from her, her expression unwaveringly _sad_ , and Azula’s lip curls, eyes narrow in anger (a mistake, a mistake; she has to detach herself from emotion with lightning), and she lifts her hand--

And suddenly it isn’t Mother standing there. It’s Zuko, throwing himself in front of her lightning to take it for that Water Tribe girl, an expression of pure determination on his face, and Azula _falters._

The lightning explodes in her face.

Azula’s body slams against the wall behind her. She collapses into a heap on the ground, coughing, her breathing strangled and gasping. There is a huge, charred circle of blackness on the floor where she had been standing.

(No Mother, but that doesn’t matter right now.)

Slowly, Azula climbs to her feet. She looks at her hands, the tips of her fingers red and slightly burned, and then down at the ground again.

“No,” she murmurs, rubbing her fingers. “No, no, _no._ ”

This can’t be happening.

She wants to try again, but now she’s terrified that she’s going to fail, and the amount of emotion boiling up inside of her is a near guarantee that it’ll explode in her face again.

So Azula stares down at her hands.

She should’ve struck to kill Zuko at the Agni Kai.

But no, she doesn’t want that either. She doesn’t understand why she doesn’t, because Father would’ve wanted that, but what does Azula want?

(She wants to not be weak, because weakness makes Father angry, and he was only ever angry at Zuko when he was in the palace, but then he left, and Azula had to work twice as hard to get his approval because it was just her, just Azula, all alone, no Mother, no Iroh, no Lu Ten, no Zuko--)

Azula takes a deep breath, making up her mind. She pulls her finger through the air again, deliberately keeping her eyes open. She lets a cool calm sweep over her as electricity dances over her fingertips.

She fixes her eyes on the wall across from her.

She doesn’t hesitate this time. The lightning strikes true.

Azula breathes a sigh of relief, wringing her hands out. She looks at the charred wall, satisfied, and sits down on her bed. A brief moment of weakness, then. No matter; she’s sorted it out easily. There’s nothing to worry about.

Except Mother is gone.

Emotion comes flooding back to her as though it had never left at all, and Azula _hates_ how raw it makes her feel, but she can’t wash it away as she did before. She hardly realizes that she’s shooting to her feet until she’s already up, hands trembling with rage.

“Where are you?” she shouts, hair whipping her face as she looks around wildly. She finds herself grabbing the bars of her cell to steady herself from a bout of dizziness, her eyes wide and frantic as she scans the empty room, and she knows that she’s overreacting, but she can’t bring herself to care. “You can’t leave without me dismissing you, Mother! How dare you defy the will of your Crown Princess?!”

No response.

Before she can start screaming again to try and drown out the thoughts crowding her head, the door opens, and Azula whips her head around. She frowns; they’d already brought in her food. Not that she'll be eating it, because Mother could've whispered for them to slip poison into it.

“What do you want?” she snaps at the guard.

Except it isn’t a guard.

“Good morning, Princess Azula.” The door closes behind the newcomer, a hunched, older woman with greying hair and deep wrinkles. Azula narrows her eyes suspiciously at her as she approaches her cell, maintaining a safe distance away from her. “My name is Doctor Sato. I am the head psychiatrist at the palace’s institution.”

“A psychiatrist,” Azula echoes scornfully. She glances at where Mother had been seconds ago, then back at the woman. “Whatever are you here for?”

Sato’s hands are tucked into her sleeves, just like how Mother holds herself. The sight makes Azula’s jaw clench.

“I am here under the instruction of your brother, Fire Lord Zuko,” she says, and if Azula liked her before (which she didn’t, even if she used her title, and Azula hasn’t heard her title in ages), she definitely doesn’t now. “He does not wish for you to remain in this prison any longer. You will be moved to the palace’s institution today.”

“I don’t need to be _institutionalized,_ ” Azula sneers. The absurdity of this entire conversation is almost unbelievable, so she turns away, wearing that expression of disdain that she’s assumed so often that it’s practically second nature. “You are dismissed.”

Sato laughs - _laughs._ It’s a low, wry chuckle, hardly even a laugh at all, but Azula hasn’t heard the sound of anyone’s laughter other than her own in ages, and she feels her shoulders stiffen in response.

When did laughter become something to fear? 

(Stupid question. It has never been a sound of happiness for Azula; it has always been something calculated, just as everything else has been, because happiness is just another emotion to deal with, and emotions are for the weak.)

“Princess Azula,” says Sato, and Azula is, ridiculously, relieved to hear that the laughter is gone, “I am only here to help you.”

“You’re here because Zuko sent you,” Azula spits, glaring at the woman. Sato, surprisingly, doesn’t flinch, her gaze remaining steely as he looks at Azula. Azula revises her initial impression of the older woman - perhaps she is not as fragile as her appearance suggests. So she narrows her eyes, giving her a look that has made ministers and generals decades older than Azula tremble, and this is the look that Zuko needs to learn if he doesn’t want to be constantly undermined, but he was never fit for the throne to begin with. “I don’t need your pity. I’m doing perfectly fine.”

“Were you the one screaming?” Sato asks mildly.

This woman is practically begging to be burnt to a crisp.

Perhaps Sato recognizes her mistake, because she quickly adds, “I do not wish to hurt you, Princess Azula.” Her hands emerge from her sleeves, and she holds them out in a placating gesture. “Yes, your brother sent me, but that does not change the fact that I want to help you. I am not your enemy.”

And _that_ is hilarious. The laughter comes easily to Azula, and somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, she recognizes that she is not helping her case in proving her sanity, but it’s too quiet for her to hear over the sound of laughter being pulled from her throat.

“You are not going to be taking me anywhere,” she growls. Flames erupt in her fists, encasing them completely. Still, Sato does not react, and that angers Azula even more.

“Please, Princess Azula,” Sato says. “This will go much more easily if you come with us of your own volition.”

“Us?” Azula’s flames grow hotter, bigger, wilder, as her lip curls into a snarl. “I _knew_ it. You’re working for Mother. You’re going to kill me to make sure that Zuko keeps his place on the throne.”

“Princess Azula, I only meant the--”

“No wonder she left when you came,” Azula hisses, walking closer to the woman. Her flaming hands find the bars of her cell, and she grips them tightly, the metal growing white hot beneath her grasp. For the first time, a flicker of alarm flashes over Sato’s face. “You want me gone. I’m sure Mother has told you all about the monster she has for a daughter, hasn’t she?”

Sato has backed up against the wall, now, but she doesn’t look scared. Azula hardly has time to take a breath and start shouting at her before the door bursts open and three guards that Azula has never seen before rush into the room. They unlock Azula’s cell and rush at her, pinning her arms behind her back, and is that a _straitjacket?_

“Unhand me!” shrieks Azula, thrashing and kicking as hard as she possibly can, but it is to no avail. Her mouth comes close to one of the guards’ arms, so she bites as hard as she possibly can, and to her surprise, she is met with the soft feeling of flesh rather than the hard scrape of metal. The guard shouts in anger and pain, reeling back, but Azula hardly notices.

They aren’t wearing the uniform that guards and soldiers wear. They lack the armor, the pointed boots, wearing real fabric instead that leaves their skin vulnerable to attack. These aren’t guards. It doesn’t even seem like they work in the prison.

Who are these people?

Sato is watching her with this absolutely horrible look in her eyes, like Azula is exactly what she expected, like she is disappointed by it. Azula wants to scream at her, so she does, but then there’s a cloth being pulled over her head, tied around her mouth, and suddenly she’s gagging, choking on her own scream, coughing her lungs out, _(and she’s back in the courtyard again, the waterbender’s ice completely encasing her, and she can’t breathe, and she’s all alone again, again, always alone, always forgotten, abandoned like the monster that she is)_ , and Sato is still _staring_ at her, and the guards are still here, but they’re not really guards; they must be working for Mother, they’re here to kill her, take her out for good this time _(Azula finds that she doesn’t really mind the thought as much as she expected; perhaps it would be better for her and for everyone else)_ , but then there’s a ringing in her ears and a dull throb in her head, and--

Azula slams back to reality with deep, gasping breaths, the world swimming before her, just in time to see one of the not-guards pull a now empty syringe out of her arm. She thinks it stings, vaguely, and she glances down at her arm to see a little bubble of blood emerging from the surface.

“You weren’t supposed to do it like that, Nurse Hara,” she thinks she hears Sato say disapprovingly to the not-guard.

“She was attacking me,” Hara says gruffly, and his nails are digging into Azula’s arm, and she wants to tell him to stop, but her eyes are drooping and she’s losing the feeling in her limbs, and she wonders what was in that damn syringe. Poison? But poison doesn’t work this fast, does it? Azula should know this.

“--back to the institution,” Sato is saying, or maybe it’s someone else. “The Fire Lord may not be pleased when he finds out what we had to do to take her there.”

“He said we could use any means necessary as long as she was left unharmed and she stayed safe,” says the other nurse, somewhere behind (or in front of?) Azula. “I don’t think he’ll mind as long as we take her to the institution in one piece. He’s the Fire Lord, after all.”

Sato chuckles. “You don’t know Fire Lord Zuko,” and Azula is slipping, she is slipping away from reality, from consciousness, and she feels herself slump backwards into a pair of arms holding her up, but she refuses to let go quite yet if this is the end, “if you believe that he is as cruel as his father is. I would be careful with what you say, however, especially in regards to the princess. Though it might not be the same as it used to be, I hear his temper can be quite spectacular to behold.”

Azula loses her hold. She falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to clarify something - Zuko does not know that this is how Azula is being treated while he's at Ba Sing Se!! He thinks that she is getting the help she needs while he's gone, and if he knew how people in the Fire Nation are treated in institutions, he would never have put Azula in there in the first place. I'm operating under the belief that the Northern Water Tribe is the most advanced in medical practices and the Fire Nation is the least, which I think is fairly reasonable to assume.
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading <3 !! The next chapter, Zuko will be in Ba Sing Se and reunite with the Gaang.
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	7. ba sing se (1): walls that still stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko arrives in Ba Sing Se and reunites with the Gaang (and a certain former circus gal...). They attend the first meeting of negotiations, and an agenda for the proceedings is established. Also, Chief Arnook has a _conversation _with Zuko.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM
> 
> This chapter is ridiculously long, but I can't make it shorter, so I'm just going to hope that you all are okay with it. I'm not too happy with how it turned out, but it's the best I can get it to be. Honestly, writing politics is not my forte at all, but hey, it's a learning experience. I planned on having a brief scene with Azula's perspective in this chapter, but it ended up being so long that I couldn't fit it in. The Ba Sing Se chapters are going to be very heavily focused on Zuko, but there is a LOT of Azula coming up in the future arcs - don't worry ;))
> 
> Anyways, this is the first chapter of the Ba Sing Se arc. These chapters will have a lot of politics, tension, Zuko learning self care, the Gaang working out their feelings about literally everything (and I mean literally everything), political people hating each other and also maybe definitely conspiring to kill-- sorry what? Did I say something?
> 
> CW: Zuko is honestly constantly on the verge of a panic attack in this entire chapter - lots of guilt, shame, and self-disgust for those feelings. Brief allusion to depriving himself of sleep as a form of punishment (last sentence). There is one very, VERY subtle allusion to suicide (the sentence is cut off before anything can really be said) and a more explicit joke made about it. There's also a description of unintentional self-harm towards the end, during/after the encounter with Chief Arnook.
> 
> Um. This chapter is actually a lot more lighthearted than the CW makes it seem - it just gets heavy towards the end. Anyways. I hope you enjoy!

They’re going to make him stand here for hours.

Zuko stares at the guard in front of the wall of Ba Sing Se with an expression that betrays zero emotion. Behind him, his guards, Eiji and a tough, middle-aged woman named Akira, are murmuring quietly to themselves, shooting glares at the Earth Kingdom guards.

Zuko refuses to blink.

“You might need to wait for a few minutes, sir,” the guard says, and Zuko is tempted to set something on fire because he was right, he’s going to be here for an ungodly amount of time, and he hates that he was right. “I believe I need you to--”

“For crying out loud,” snaps Akira, starting forward. “This is the _Fire Lord_. We have to get into the city for the peace talks.”

“Akira,” Zuko says quietly, holding up a hand. She reluctantly takes a step back.

Ba Sing Se has experienced so much political turmoil since its fall and recovery that it simply does not have the time or much of the resources to repair its defenses. Zuko knows this. Everyone knows this. One only needs to look at the wall, at the conspicuously few numbers of guards, to see that.

So, standing here, being met by guards reluctant to let him into the city, Zuko wonders if they know that he could technically just… walk around the wall.

Zuko’s ship docked two hours ago after sailing through the narrow river leading up to the city, the moon shining brightly above and the stars peeking out from behind thin, feathery clouds. Hoping to avoid looking any more threatening than he’s sure that the red of his robes and the crown on his head will make him, Zuko took just two members of his personal guard off of the ship with him, Eiji and Akira, leaving the remaining six and his crew behind.

But standing in front of the wall of Ba Sing Se, face to face with the stone-faced guards in front, Zuko really wishes that he brought more of his own guards with him. It would make this stand-off much more effective on his part.

The guard seems to be fighting a smile (he wouldn’t be acting like this with Ozai, he wouldn’t act like this with Azula, but because it’s Zuko, he thinks he can get away with it, and he’s right, he’s right). “I’m terribly sorry for the trouble,” he says. “I doubt it will take very long.”

Zuko knows that he’s only doing this to inconvenience him, but as much as Zuko wants to call him out on it, he is too aware of the huge power imbalance between the two of them. He’s not Ozai or Azula, so he’s not going to blast this man’s head off of his shoulders, even if he might want to a little bit.

A _little_ bit. Because he understands why this man is doing it.

“I’m sure it won’t,” Zuko says, in as measured of a tone as he can, “but we cannot afford to waste any time. We have limited days in the city as it is.”

“I’m very sorry, sir, but--”

“Fire Lord Zuko!”

Zuko glances over his shoulder. He feels his face break into a smile, one that he quickly reigns in for the sake of professionalism, but it’s still there, peeking around the corners of his lips. A man dressed in Water Tribe blues, flanked by just under a dozen men and wearing beads in his dark brown hair, is walking up to Zuko and his guards.

“Chief Hakoda,” says Zuko. He reaches out to accept the chief’s outstretched hand. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad that you were able to make it.”

“As am I,” Chief Hakoda says. To Zuko’s surprise, he tugs him into a strong hug, arms wrapped tightly around him. As he pulls away, he rests his hands on Zuko’s shoulders, smiling warmly at him. “You’re a lot taller now. You’ll be my height in a matter of months at the rate that you’re growing.”

Zuko flushes, suddenly very aware of the eyes of people from three separate nations boring holes into him. “Er,” he says, and he can practically hear Mai’s scoff in his ear at his eloquence, “I guess so.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting. He knew that he would have to interact with the Chief eventually, but somehow, a hug hadn’t been one of the things that he’d imagined. He was picturing a lot more awkwardness and a great number of formalities. Not this.

He’s… pleasantly surprised.

Chief Hakoda lets go of Zuko, both to his relief and his disappointment, and turns to the guards in front of the wall. They’re all staring with open mouths and wide eyes, but as Chief Hakoda looks at them, their lips snap shut.

“Well?” Chief Hakoda asks with a raised eyebrow. “Are you going to let us through?”

“Y-yes, sir,” says the guard that had been talking to Zuko. The guards assume an earthbending stance, pulling down a small section of the stone wall to let Zuko and his guards as well as Chief Hakoda and his men to pass through. Zuko doesn’t miss the disbelieving looks that the guards exchange as Zuko and Chief Hakoda walk through, side by side, their respective groups following closely behind.

The poor state of the wall means that the train system no longer exists. Instead, there are three carriages waiting for them as they enter the city. Chief Hakoda and Zuko get into one, the Chief’s men in another, and Zuko’s guards in the other. Eiji tries to get into the carriage with Chief Hakoda and Zuko, but Zuko waves him off. Akira, though she eyes Chief Hakoda suspiciously, says nothing.

The carriage starts moving.

Ba Sing Se looks… the same. It hurts to look too closely at the streets that Zuko used to wander, the buildings he used to scale at night. It reminds him of his failures, his weaknesses, all of the mistakes that he’s made. So he looks away from the window.

This isn’t going to be a good week.

“You’ve only brought two guards with you,” Chief Hakoda notes as the carriage rattles through the streets of the Outer Ring. His arms are folded across his chest, sitting back in a relaxed fashion that Zuko can’t seem to imitate. His back is too stiff, his shoulders too tensed.

“I did,” says Zuko. “I thought it would be inappropriate to bring more Fire Nation into the Earth Kingdom than explicitly necessary. I told my crew to try and stay by the port as much as possible for the week to avoid any unnecessary tensions.”

“Wise choice,” says Chief Hakoda. “I can’t imagine that you will be very well received at the peace talks.”

“No,” Zuko says, smiling drily, “I don’t think I will be.”

“But no ministers, either? Surely you must need some advice for your decisions.”

“My ministers haven’t been…” Zuko struggles for a moment. “They haven’t been the most enthusiastic about the change in leadership.”

There. That’s safe enough. Even if Chief Hakoda is something like a father figure to him (which is very weird to say, and Zuko balks at the thought), he’s still a foreign leader. And the Fire Nation is not the Southern Water Tribe’s ally. Not yet, at least, if the peace talks end up going well.

“Ah,” says Chief Hakoda after a small pause. “I see.”

Zuko looks over at Chief Hakoda nervously, suddenly feeling like he’s back at the Western Air Temple again. That interaction that they’d had that night, sitting with their legs dangling off of the edge of the temple, had been one of the most mortifying and enlightening conversations of Zuko’s life. He’d been convinced that Chief Hakoda would view him differently afterwards, that he would see him as weak and unfit to be teaching Aang firebending, but that hadn’t happened.

Chief Hakoda was the first person that Zuko ever told the story of how he got his scar to. Everyone knows the story, whether that be through rumors or gossip or simply from a tale to provide more evidence for the evils of the Fire Nation, but Zuko had never told it himself. Not until that night at the Western Air Temple.

It was embarrassing. Zuko may have cried, not that he would ever admit it. He hadn’t been able to look the Chief in the eyes for days after that despite the fact that he treated him exactly the same as before, if not a little warmer. But now he’s in a carriage with Chief Hakoda as the Fire Lord, having just been embraced like a son, riding through the streets of a truly war-free Ba Sing Se.

Zuko almost can’t believe it.

“How are Sokka, Katara, and Aang doing?” Zuko asks, mostly to snap himself out of his thoughts. “They had plans to go down to the South Pole.”

“They did,” says Chief Hakoda. He leans forward, unfolding his arms and resting his elbows on his knees. “They’re doing quite well, to my knowledge, though Katara and Aang did not stay long. Sokka went up to the North Pole to communicate with our sister tribe and attempt to re-establish connections that had been lost during the war. He’s serving temporarily as an ambassador while we figure out something different. He’ll be coming to the peace talks this week, of course - I believe he left earlier than the rest of the Northern Water Tribe, so he might already be here.”

Zuko frowns. “He doesn’t like it in the Northern Water Tribe?”

Chief Hakoda chuckles. “Oh, he hates it there,” he says. “He said it was… ‘too much sexism and too many memories,’ I believe.”

“Oh,” says Zuko. A somewhat awkward silence falls over them.

Zuko makes a note to avoid talking about the Siege of the North at all cost over the course of this week. He should also avoid talking about the fall of Ba Sing Se, for that matter. 

Except… except those two events were among the most prominent battles of the war.

Spirits. This is not going to end well.

“Are you excited?” asks Chief Hakoda. “This is your first international meeting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Zuko stiffly, and it comes out sounding slightly defensive.

“It’s alright to be nervous,” says Chief Hakoda, smiling. Coming from anyone else, it might’ve sounded condescending, but from him, Zuko finds himself relaxing a little. “You’re only human, and you’re still young. But I have complete faith in you, Fire Lord Zuko. I’m proud of you.”

“I…” Zuko blinks. Chief Hakoda might as well have just slapped him with a ton of bricks. “Thank-- thank you.”

They continue to talk as the carriage moves. Zuko thinks that he catches a glimpse of the tea shop that he and Uncle used to work in the moment he starts to relax, and he feels a sudden surge of emotion and memories that he hastens to shove away. But it’s too late, because now he’s thinking about Jet and that last encounter he’d had with him, watching him get dragged away by the Dai Li, and it had been about this time in the evening when it had happened, hadn’t it?

Great. This is just… great.

The carriage stops in front of a series of houses in the Upper Ring. Zuko frowns at buildings in confusion, but he steps out of the carriage after Chief Hakoda regardless. Eiji and Akira walk over to his side the moment that they exit their carriage.

“Is everything okay?” Zuko asks, noting their expressions.

“Fine, Your Majesty,” Eiji says. He hesitates for a moment. “I do wish that you brought more guards with you, however, sir. This is a huge city, much larger than I thought. I do not know if Akira and I will be enough to defend you.”

Zuko smiles. “There’s no need to worry,” he says. “We only have one meeting today. I don’t think that I’ll need protection for those few hours.”

Both Eiji and Akira glance at each other, clearly doubtful. It’s a form of silent communication that no doubt would’ve gotten them both killed if they’d done it in front of Ozai, so the fact that they do it now, here, in front of Zuko, is both comforting and a little off-putting.

“Understood, Your Majesty,” says Akira at last, and both of them bow.

Zuko turns back to the houses, the musing frown falling back over his face. Chief Hakoda and his men are talking together animatedly, all of them laughing about something. Zuko is about to walk over to them and ask if they know why they’re here, in front of this seemingly random Upper Ring neighborhood, when the door to one of the houses flies open.

“Dad!” Katara shouts. She’s dressed in Water Tribe blues, a flower tucked into her hair and a sparkle in her eye as she rushes at Chief Hakoda, tackling him into a hug. Chief Hakoda grunts at the impact, smiling broadly as he holds his daughter close.

“Katara,” he says, in a voice slightly choked with emotion. “It’s good to see you.”

Katara pulls away, wiping her eyes. Her eyes land on Zuko. Her face lights up momentarily, but then falls again, a look of concern flashing over her features. It’s so brief that Zuko almost doesn’t notice, and her smile is right back up before he can really process it, bright and beaming, as she runs over to hug him.

“We’re all here,” she says in wonderment. Her voice is muffled as she speaks into his shoulder. “We’re all here. For the first time in weeks, we’re all here.”

“In Ba Sing Se, too, of all places,” Zuko says, smiling. They pull away from one another, Katara furiously wiping her eyes.

“Why am I crying?” she growls in frustration. “This is stupid. It’s only been a few weeks.”

Zuko looks away out of respect for her, and his eyes land on the house again. No one else has come outside, but the door is still ajar.

“Oh,” says Katara, following his confused gaze to the house. “All of the delegates and leaders are staying in the houses here for their time here. You, me, Sokka, Toph, and Aang are staying in this house together. Earth King Kuei offered to give us separate accommodations, but we insisted on this. We had a feeling you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Zuko says, and he’s secretly relieved that they’ll all be in the same place within the walls. Staying on his ship would mean a repeat of the events of this evening at the wall every single morning, and Zuko is much less likely to be able to keep himself from snapping at such an early hour. “It’ll be like Ember Island all over again.”

 _But with less family trauma,_ he doesn’t say.

“Dad,” Katara calls. She points to the house beside the one she emerged from. “Everyone from the Southern Water Tribe is going to be there. Chief Arnook and his men are going to be in that one.”

Chief Hakoda waves in acknowledgement as he leads his men into the house. Katara turns to Zuko and, for the first time, seems to notice the presence of Eiji and Akira. Eiji gives her a friendly smile. Akira just nods stiffly.

“That’s it?” says Katara blankly, glancing at Zuko. “They’re all you brought?”

“Anti-intimidation tactic,” says Zuko. “The less people I have with me, the less likely people are to think I’m going to start another war. And I have my crew and the rest of my personal guard, but they’re all back on the ship. Hopefully, at least, if they listened to what I said.”

“Why wouldn’t they listen to what you said? You’re the Fire Lord.”

“Because--” Zuko shakes his head, remembering the crew he’d had during his banishment. “Not important. Where’s everyone else?”

“Inside,” says Katara. She smiles at him, linking her arm through his. They start walking to the house. “You’re the last one of our friends, but the Northern Water Tribe still hasn’t arrived yet. Suki and the rest of the Kyoshi warriors came just a few hours ago. Since Ba Sing Se’s defenses are still in shambles, the Kyoshi Warriors are going to be guarding the palace for our peace talks. They’re with the Earth King right now.”

Zuko straightens up suddenly. “Is Ty Lee with them?” he asks. Katara tightens her lips slightly.

“Yes,” she says at last.

“You don’t trust her.”

“Obviously not.”

“You trust Mai, though.”

Katara looks at Zuko with a mixture of frustration and amusement. “I spent several weeks with her at the palace,” she points out. “She didn’t attack me a single time. Ty Lee, on the other hand, has done nothing to prove that she’s suddenly good. Forgive me for being a little wary.”

Zuko shrugs. They climb up the steps to the door. “I don’t blame you.”

“Good. Where’s Mai, by the way? Did she not come with you?”

“I didn’t bring my ministers, so I didn’t have a good enough excuse to bring her. She’s visiting her family back in Caldera.”

“You didn’t bring your ministers?”

Zuko smiles humorlessly. “I’d rather they not deny that I ever ended the war while we’re trying to write treaties in the name of peace,” he says, and it’s impossible to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Zuko pauses just before they enter the house, glancing back at Eiji and Akira. “Er,” he says, hesitating for a brief moment, “you guys can stay out here. If that’s okay with you.”

Eiji smiles, bowing. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Shout if you need us, sir,” adds Akira. She and Eiji station themselves on either side of the doors.

Katara closes the doors behind them and bursts out laughing.

“What?” asks Zuko defensively. “Why are you laughing?”

Katara coughs a few times, trying and failing to hold her laughter in. “Because,” she manages to say between shallow, hiccup-y breaths, “you are so different from the angry, shouting guy who was always barking orders that we met at the South Pole all of those months ago. I thought you were scary, but you’re just shy.”

“I am not _shy!”_

“And your guards love you, oh _spirits._ Did you see the male guard’s smile? They’re _fond_ of you.”

“They don’t-- What are you--”

“Zuko!”

Zuko glances up, spluttering interrupted, and is immediately thrown back against the doors by a flash of orange and Aang’s entire body weight being thrown on him. He yelps, stumbling to catch his balance before he falls.

“Hi, Aang,” says Zuko, like he didn’t just almost topple over from the weight of an airbender. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Aang beams. His grey eyes are bright and sparkling as they meet Zuko’s, but as his eyes land on Zuko’s face, it falters slightly. Just as Katara’s expression had, however, the look vanishes almost immediately and is once more replaced by his smile.

Zuko frowns, briefly. He’d been sure that he imagined it on Katara, but two times in a row means that it can’t be a coincidence.

“Fire Lord Zuko, sir!” Aang bows, incorrectly making the sign of the flame. Zuko sighs.

“Didn’t you go to a Fire Nation school?” he asks, tapping Aang’s hands. Aang quickly readjusts, grinning sheepishly. “And you’re the Avatar. That should be something you know.”

“I do, now,” Aang says. He grabs Zuko’s hand, tugging him further into the house. “Come on! Sokka and Toph are upstairs. They’re having a drawing contest.”

“Isn’t Toph blind?”

“Toph said that she bet she was a better artist than Sokka,” Katara says as they climb up the stairs. “Sokka took that as a challenge. Aang and I are the judges.”

They emerge into a hallway lined with doors, not unlike the format of an inn. Aang pushes open the door on the immediate right, all but shoving Zuko inside with his enthusiasm.

“Um,” says Zuko.

The room is covered in papers, puddles of ink soaking into the wooden floor. Sokka and Toph are both lying on their stomachs on the ground, holding brushes and scribbling ink onto sheets of paper with alarmingly similar technique. Toph’s Earth Kingdom green clothes are soaked with black, as is the blue of Sokka’s sleeves, but neither of them seem to notice. Sokka’s tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration as he works while Toph’s hands dig into the ground beside her paper. 

The sound of Zuko’s voice causes both of them to look up.

“Hey, Sparky!” Toph says. She grins widely at him, waving with ink-soaked hands. “Wanna see what I drew?”

“Whoa whoa _whoa_ ,” Sokka interjects, slapping his hand over Toph’s drawing before she can pick it up. “No spoilers yet! Aang and Katara need to judge blindly. Pun not intended. Also, hey, Zuko.”

“Hi.”

“You should go unpack your stuff,” Toph says, whacking Sokka’s hand with the back of her brush so he lets go of her paper. “Sokka and I are going to be at this for awhile.”

“Oh, uh…” Zuko blinks a few times. “I left my stuff on the ship. I thought I’d be staying there. It’s fine; I’ll grab it after today’s meeting.”

“Whatever you say, Sparky. Thanks for making me an ambassador, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. You were going to come anyways, weren’t you?”

“Yep.”

Katara makes a _tch_ sound with her tongue, waterbending the ink off of the floor and out of Toph and Sokka’s clothes. “You could at least _try_ to keep this place clean,” she says reproachfully. “It’s only the first day. This isn’t our home.”

“At least I didn’t destroy a whole corner of the house like last time,” says Toph casually, dipping her brush into the ink. Zuko blinks.

“When did you destroy a corner of a house?”

“Last time we were here,” Katara says. “Not important.”

“If this ‘not important’ is the same as the blackmail ‘not important,’ I think it’s pretty important. I’d still like to know what the blackmail is, by the way.”

Sokka finally looks up from his work, eyes landing on Zuko. Whatever joke he was about to make, though, is lost in the back of his throat as he stares at him, wearing that same look that both Aang and Katara had on their faces. Except Sokka is much more obvious about it, with his huge eyes and eyebrows furrowed in concern.

There’s a sound behind Zuko, and he turns around just in time to see Katara shaking her head violently at Sokka. She widens her eyes when Zuko catches her gaze and quickly stops the gesture.

“What?” Zuko squints at her, then at Aang, then at Sokka. He bypasses Toph because she can’t see. “Why do you all keep looking at me like that? You’ve all had the exact same expression on your face when you first saw me.”

“No reason!” Sokka says in a voice that’s about two octaves higher than normal. Zuko hears Katara slap her forehead.

“Does it have anything to do with his faster-than-normal heartbeat?” asks Toph, sitting up. “Because that’s happening.”

“Didn’t you say that his heartbeat is always fast?” Katara asks, frowning.

“Yeah, but it’s faster than normal this time.”

Zuko’s mouth drops open. “When did you guys discuss my heartbeat? Why don’t I know about this?”

“When she was healing you, I mentioned that your heart rate was at an actually normal rate for once,” says Toph, waving her hand in the air vaguely. “It always sounds like you’re on the verge of a panic attack. Didn’t I tell you this?”

“No,” says Zuko quietly, his expression closing off, and something in his voice must sound a little dangerous because Sokka slowly scoots back, away from him, “you didn’t. And I’d really appreciate it if you would stop doing that, if you could.”

This shouldn’t even be a conversation that they’re having. Zuko is trying his best to prevent any emotion from showing on his face, but maybe the lack of emotion itself is enough for everyone, because they’re all exchanging nervous glances with each other. Toph, in particular, has stiffened significantly, as though prepared to bolt.

And that… that hurts a little bit. Because Zuko knows that feeling.

Zuko sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, can we just-- forget about this? I’d rather not walk into the first meeting of the negotiations with tension between us. If you’re staring at me because I look terrible, I know. I didn’t get any sleep last night. Don’t,” he warns, turning around to glare at Katara, because he could sense her starting to speak. She quickly closes her mouth. “Let’s just drop it.”

“Okay,” says Toph immediately. Everyone else hastily nods their agreement.

There’s another, almost unbearable, silence.

“So,” says Sokka. “Uh… How was your journey here?”

Zuko snorts at his awkward tone. The tension shatters, and the conversation falls back into something resembling normalcy, as normal as can be with this particular group.

The strained atmosphere forgotten, Sokka tells everyone all about his time in the Northern Water Tribe, complaining about sexism and the obsession with masculinity that all of the men in the tribe have (Katara points out that he’d been exactly the same not even a few months ago, which Sokka expertly ignores). Aang and Katara regale everyone with tales of their adventures around the world, helping people heal and families come back together, and Sokka very loudly hints that he would like to join them at some point. Toph says something, in an uncharacteristically timid manner, about how she has been making plans to open up a metal-bending academy, and everyone immediately starts shouting in excitement.

It’s nice. It’s really, really nice, and Zuko hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this.

Zuko doesn’t say much. He laughs, he smiles, he occasionally jumps in with a wry comment or two, but for the most part, he sits back and takes in the sight of all of his friends in the same place, happy and laughing and as okay as they can possibly be. He sits back against the wall, a safe distance away from Toph and Sokka’s puddles of ink, and listens.

He wishes he could stay in this moment, right here, for the rest of eternity.

\---

Of course, nothing lasts, and Zuko finds himself standing in the middle of the negotiation chamber in the palace not an hour later. He left his guards outside, much to their chagrin, but the look that he gave them was enough to quiet their protests. They wouldn’t have argued with Ozai or Azula, but Zuko is starting to think that the fact that they _are_ arguing might be a good thing on several different levels.

His very first thought, at the sight of world leaders and delegates filing into the room and taking seats at the long, curved table, is: _Uncle would’ve been so much better of a Fire Lord than me._

It occurs to Zuko for the first time that he’s going to have to talk to people. A lot of people. And Zuko has never been good at social interaction, not like Uncle.

How in the name of Agni is he going to get through this week?

“Wow,” murmurs Aang somewhere by his shoulder. “That’s… a lot of people.”

“No kidding,” says Zuko, quieter than he intended.

In the corner of his eye, Zuko can see Toph’s eyebrows furrow and Katara and Sokka standing with their mouths dropped open as their gazes flick over the room, and he knows that the same realization has just hit the three of them, a realization that they knew, in theory, but had never really processed.

The war is over.

But this is only the beginning.

“Avatar Aang!” Zuko hears someone call from somewhere in front of him. He glances to see Earth King Kuei, his green robes swishing around his ankles, striding over to them, beaming. “Katara! Sokka! Toph! How wonderful to see you all.”

“It’s good to see you, Earth King Kuei,” says Aang, smiling widely. “How’s Bosco?”

“He’s doing wonderfully,” says the Earth King. His smile falls a little. “He’s back in my chambers, unfortunately - he doesn’t do well with large numbers of people, see, after what happened when the city fell.”

Great. Zuko has hardly even stepped into the room, and they’ve already landed on the fall of Ba Sing Se.

“Earth King Kuei,” Zuko says, bowing. “It’s nice to meet you.”

King Kuei’s smile vanishes as his eyes land on Zuko, and Zuko can _hear_ the memory of the last time Zuko was in his city smashing against the walls of his head, because the exact same thing is happening to Zuko right now.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” King Kuei says, bowing as well. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries.

Yeah. Zuko wants to die.

Zuko forces a smile, even though the only thoughts in his head are a cycle of Aang getting struck by lightning, Uncle trapped in the crystals, and Jet getting dragged away by the Dai Li. The Earth King doesn’t seem too malicious of a man - in fact, he seems rather exuberant and over-enthusiastic towards everyone but Zuko. Zuko had been wondering what kind of man would have been able to go his entire rule without knowing that a war had been raging on for the past century, but he thinks that it makes sense now.

“Please,” says King Kuei, gesturing to the curved table. “Take a seat. Sokka, Katara - your father is over there with the rest of the Southern Water Tribe delegates. Ambassador Beifong, delegates from all parts of the Earth Kingdom are seated in that section over there.”

“I’ll sit wherever,” says Toph. King Kuei wisely doesn’t argue.

Zuko and Aang end up sitting right beside each other towards the end of the table because they are the only representatives of their two respective nations. They are two boys from the exact opposites sides of the war, yet both are alone. There’s an odd solidarity there that neither of them verbally acknowledge but both are fully aware of. Zuko wonders, smiling darkly to himself, what Sozin’s reaction would be to this scene: his great-grandson, the Fire Lord, seated beside the Avatar and the last airbender.

The thought brings him some much-needed amusement.

They sit in silence. Aang is fidgeting uncomfortably, something that Zuko forces himself not to do as his hands tighten on the fabric of his robes covering his legs.

“Stop that,” snaps Zuko, glaring at Aang. Aang freezes, quickly straightening his back and looking forward.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m just nervous.”

“Me too,” says Zuko. “Just don’t be obvious about it. These people don’t need to be reminded of the fact that we’re kids if we want to be taken seriously.”

“Okay,” says Aang in a small voice. Zuko glances at him, then out at the room, then back at him.

“Hey,” Zuko says quietly. Aang looks at him. “It’s going to be fine, you know. You’re the Avatar. They love you already. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?”

“You’re really going to question your firebending teacher? Of course I’m sure.”

Aang beams at him. Zuko does his best to return the smile as he turns back to the front of the room, his posture as perfect as he can manage.

He looks conspicuous enough dressed in full Fire Lord regalia, but it doesn’t help that he is the only dot of red in a room full of blue and green. It also doesn’t help that he’s sitting next to the Avatar, dressed in Air Nomad robes that are equally as noticeable, and Zuko doesn’t miss any of the wary, distrustful glances thrown his way that turn into curiosity and admiration when they land on Aang. Zuko was expecting this, but he wishes they would at least make it a little less obvious for Aang’s sake, who he doubts has any idea of just how hated Zuko is by people who don’t even know him.

Zuko meets the sneering look of an Earth Kingdom delegate unflinchingly. He thinks back to Azula’s indifference, the expression that she wore before everything fell apart, and does his best to imitate it: emotionless, cold, regal.

The delegate’s gaze falters. He looks away.

Zuko experiences a childish rush of victory. He suppresses a small smile.

Maybe he’ll tell Azula about this if - _when_ \- things get better between them.

People keep coming up to Aang, shaking his hand and bowing. Aang is constantly jumping to his feet to greet everyone, laughing and smiling like it’s the easiest thing in the world (and maybe it is for him). One man in particular with uneven eyes and a cackling laugh, whom Zuko recognizes from Mai’s descriptions to be King Bumi, spends ten minutes catching up with Aang, and it takes far longer than Zuko would like to admit to realize that the elderly man is Aang’s childhood friend.

Sometimes he forgets that Aang is technically one hundred and twelve.

The door opens once more, and there’s a flash of blue that catches Zuko’s eye. On the other side of the table, Zuko sees Chief Hakoda (Zuko wishes he could be sitting on that side of the table) pause in his conversation with his children to look as well.

The Northern Water Tribe’s delegates, led by a man who is clearly Chief Arnook, walk into the room.

And Chief Arnook immediately makes eye contact with Zuko.

His expression is colder than ice, his gaze as piercing as if he’d run Zuko through with a sword. Even despite the distance between them, Zuko can sense the hatred radiating off of him just by the way his eyes narrow slightly.

Zuko, very determinedly, does not look away.

“Chief Arnook,” says Chief Hakoda in a booming voice, loud enough to stall a few of the conversations around him. Chief Arnook turns away from Zuko, his expression melting into something marginally more friendly as he and his men take their seats by their sister tribe.

Zuko doesn’t allow himself to relax. Not when Momo wraps himself around Aang’s neck like a scarf, not when Toph almost cracks an Earth Kingdom delegate’s skull open when she “accidentally” runs into him with the force of a komodo rhino (and Zuko doesn’t think he wants to know what provoked such an attack), and not when Katara has to discreetly waterbend even more ink out of Sokka’s clothes from the drawing contest. Zuko sits stiffly, looking around the room but not really seeing anything at all.

Finally, _finally,_ someone clears their throat uncertainly at the front of the room, and all of the chattering immediately stops. Eyes go to Earth King Kuei, standing in the center of the room, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Good evening, friends,” says the Earth King brightly, smiling at everyone. “Welcome to Ba Sing Se! We are very grateful to both Water Tribes and all of the delegates from all corners of the Earth Kingdom for being able to make it here despite such short notice. I would also like to extend my thanks to Fire Lord Zuko for being so communicative with the delegates we sent to the Fire Nation. The negotiations this week would not have been able to happen without you all.”

Is thanking people the standard procedure for international political summits? Zuko has no idea.

“To begin this week,” King Kuei continues, “I would simply like to use today’s meeting to establish an agenda for negotiations.”

He pauses, looking out at everyone as though waiting for a response, and Zuko is struck by the realization that this man, the king of the Earth Kingdom’s capital and the host of peace negotiations, is somehow a less proficient public speaker than he is. The thought is weirdly comforting.

There’s an awkward silence, long enough for Zuko to start wondering how King Kuei even became the Earth King in the first place. Then Chief Arnook speaks, breaking the uncertain tension.

“I believe our primary priority is to write a full peace treaty,” he says, his voice low and holding all of the authority that a nation’s leader should have. He looks directly at Zuko. “The Northern Water Tribe has put together a list of the things we would like to see addressed by the Fire Nation in particular.”

“As have we,” says an Earth Kingdom king, followed by an absolute cacophony of other voices.

Zuko swallows. He inhales slowly, deeply, echoing the meditation practices that Uncle taught him, and exhales.

He feels Aang’s hand slip into his.

“The Fire Nation will be fully cooperative during the negotiations of this week,” says Zuko in as regal of a voice as he can manage, his voice mercifully steady despite his racing heart. “I will do my best to honor your requests.”

Aang squeezes his hand. Zuko squeezes back.

The Avatar and the Fire Lord, the Avatar and _Zuko,_ sitting side by side in the capital of the Earth Kingdom as allies, as friends. Holding hands, drawing comfort from one another. Ending a war.

It is truly the beginning of a new era.

The first meeting of the peace talks begins.

\---

By the time Zuko leaves the room, his guards behind him and his friends surrounding him, a general agenda for the course of the week has been sketched out. Zuko’s hands are black with ink from the notes that he’s taken for himself and for Aang, who seemed to doze off halfway through, and his head is swimming with information.

He’s also smarting from more than a few passive-aggressive marks thrown his way from various delegates, but that’s besides the point.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get all of this done in one week,” Sokka’s saying as the group walks down the hallway. He ticks his fingers off. “There’s the matter of the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom, the whole mess of ambassadors, the actual writing of the treaty, withdrawal of Fire Nation forces… Am I missing anything?”

“Reparations,” supplies Zuko. “Lots and lots of reparations.”

If Zuko took anything away from the meeting, it’s that he’s not going to get a moment of rest for the whole week. The Fire Nation is involved in nearly every point on the agenda, and since Zuko hasn’t brought any ministers with him, he’s going to have to be present for every single meeting.

“That isn’t to mention all of the legislation that has to be passed for each of those topics,” says Katara, shaking her head in disbelief. Her arm is around Aang, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep at any moment. “Those are all huge things to tackle. I seriously doubt that--”

“Hey!” Toph shouts. Zuko starts so violently that he almost falls over. Toph snickers.

“What was that for?” Zuko snaps, straightening back up.

“Sorry, Sparky.” Toph punches Katara’s arm hard enough to cause her to yelp. “No politics. No more politics. That can wait for _tomorrow._ Right now, we’re going to go back to the house and sleep.”

“Yeah, _Zuko_ ,” says Sokka pointedly. Zuko rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

They emerge from the palace doors into the cool night air. Zuko’s guards hurry to flank him now that they’re in open space. Sokka yawns dramatically, stretching his arms above his head, then pauses. His eyes widen.

“Suki!” he shouts, his face breaking into a huge smile. Zuko’s eyes follow Sokka’s gaze, landing on a group of Kyoshi warriors standing by the steps, talking to one another. One of them looks up, and Zuko sees the moment that Suki’s face brightens as her eyes land on Sokka. She says something to her warriors and runs towards Sokka, the two of them slamming into one another and hugging each other tightly.

Zuko misses Mai.

“Hey, guys,” Suki says, smiling at the rest of them. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” says Toph, grinning. Zuko closes his eyes, sighing.

“You’re guarding the palace?” asks Zuko, ignoring Toph’s laughter. “Seems like a big job for such a small group.”

Suki shrugs. “Yeah, well. There are some Northern Water Tribe warriors helping us out for a few of the shifts, and I think some of Chief Hakoda’s men volunteered to step in if we needed anything. It’s nothing we can’t handle. Better us than the Dai Li, anyways.”

“Ugh,” Katara says, shuddering. She readjusts her grip on Aang, who is almost definitely asleep now. “Those guys always creeped me out. Are they still a thing?”

“Technically, yes,” says Suki. She pulls away from Sokka and puts her hand into his. “But after everything that happened, their ranks have been decimated. Apparently, many of them decided that they were loyal to Azula, not to the Earth Kingdom or the Fire Nation, and after Azula banished them… they kind of disintegrated. Mostly, at least.”

“Of course Azula would get an entire elite military force on her side exclusively,” says Sokka. “Of course she would.”

“Of course,” agrees Zuko, the corner of his lip twitching slightly.

His gaze wanders to the rest of the Kyoshi warriors, and he accidentally catches the eye of one in particular. He frowns, struck by her familiarity.

Then it hits him. It hits him harder than if Toph had smacked him in the back of a head with a boulder.

“Ty Lee?” he exclaims, mouth dropping open. “I didn’t even recognize you!”

Ty Lee separates from the rest of the group, bounding up to Zuko with a huge smile spreading over her face, and yep, that’s definitely Ty Lee. She wraps Zuko in one of her trademark hugs, tight but with just the right amount of gentleness, and Zuko relaxes, hugging her back.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Ty Lee pulls away, planting her hands on Zuko’s shoulders and looking him up and down. Her eyebrows raise. “Wow. You’re tall now.”

"I was always taller than you.”

“Yeah, but now you’re… _tall._ ”

She hugs him again, and Zuko lets her.

“Mai misses you a lot,” he says, his hands pressed against her back. “She says that it’s boring without you.”

“Aw,” Ty Lee says, and Zuko can hear the smile in her voice. “Even with you there?”

“She’s so mean to me.”

Ty Lee laughs, and Zuko is the one to pull away this time. They both smile at each other, real, honest smiles that reach their eyes, and Zuko thinks that the last time they had an interaction like this was when they were kids.

“I haven’t seen you since you left the palace all of those months ago,” says Ty Lee, shaking her head. “It’s been way too long!”

“This Kyoshi warrior stuff is suiting you,” Zuko says, eyeing her clothing and face paint. “I heard you taught the warriors chi blocking.”

“It was payment for letting me join,” says Ty Lee, winking. “They love me, now.”

It takes Zuko a moment to realize that everyone is just staring at them.

“Oh,” says Zuko. He turns back to look at Ty Lee. “They don’t trust you yet.”

“Nope.”

“Got it. I’m going to have to not eat or sleep again so that they can drag you into their plan to get me to rest, and then they’ll forgive you. That’s what happened with Mai.”

“They bonded over forcing you to take care of yourself?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds… accurate.”

“Okay,” Sokka cuts in, a bewildered look on his face. He looks at Zuko, then at Ty Lee, then back at Zuko. “If we forgive her now, can you go to sleep and eat something?”

Zuko shrugs. “Sure.”

“Sokka!” Katara protests. “You can’t be serious!”

Sokka holds up his hands. “Hey, if Suki trusts her, I trust her, too. And Mai turned out to be perfectly fine. Not as gloomy and sigh-y as I thought she was.”

“She’s sappy,” says Zuko, because Mai isn’t here to defend herself. Ty Lee giggles.

Katara glares at Ty Lee, somehow managing to look intimidating while holding her nearly passed out boyfriend in her arms. “ _I_ still don’t trust you,” she says pointedly. “So don’t expect me to be all friendly with you.”

Ty Lee nods. “I know. I’m sorry for everything that we did to you. I never got the chance to properly apologize.”

“Great,” says Toph sarcastically. “That makes everything all better.”

“Is she lying?” Katara asks.

“No. It was just a bad apology.”

Ty Lee, wisely choosing to step out of that particular conversation, turns to Suki. “The girls and I are going to our stations around the palace. Are you going to hang out with them?”

“I’ll escort them back to the house they’re staying in,” Suki says. “You and the rest of the girls should go through the shifts as usual. I’ll be back before my shift starts.”

“Okay, great!” Ty Lee gives Zuko one last hug, then hurries back over to join the rest of the Kyoshi warriors.

“Let’s go,” Katara says. She squeezes Aang’s shoulder gently. “He needs to get some sleep. Let’s hurry up before it gets later than it already is.”

“I’m going to grab my stuff from the ship, first,” says Zuko. “I left it onboard thinking I’d be sleeping there. I’ll join you all back at the house soon, but I--”

“Fire Lord Zuko.”

Zuko stiffens at the voice. He slowly turns around to see Chief Arnook walking out of the palace doors, his men behind him. Zuko senses Akira and Eiji tense where they stand, reacting to Zuko’s own apprehension.

“Chief Arnook,” says Zuko. He meets the man’s gaze as he comes to stand in front of him, then bows. Chief Arnook returns it. “It’s good to officially meet you.”

“And you,” says Chief Arnook, voice icier than if he’d come out of a block of ice. He opens his mouth to say something, but Sokka jumps in before he can.

“My second favorite chief!” he says, grinning and spreading his arms widely. “What’s up?”

Chief Arnook arches an eyebrow, and Zuko thinks he sees a fond smile on his face. “Sokka,” he says, in a much friendlier tone than he’d used with Zuko. “My favorite ambassador.”

Sokka puffs his chest out. “That’s right,” he says proudly.

“You’re the only ambassador in the Northern Water Tribe right now, Sokka,” says Katara.

“Still his favorite!”

Chief Arnook turns back to Zuko, expression hardening once more. Zuko looks at him, heart hammering in his ears.

“I hope you know,” says the chief, “that some of us haven’t forgotten your past actions, Fire Lord Zuko.”

Zuko goes rigid. His friends have all fallen silent.

“I’m sure,” says Zuko at last, because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to something like that. But Chief Arnook chuckles darkly.

“I’m not sure you are,” he says. “Fire Lord, I would like to make one thing very clear. I do not trust you, nor do I intend to trust you. You have made many, many mistakes. Mistakes that have hurt my people and me personally. I am reluctant to put my faith in someone who has worked blindly for the wrong side of this war for years.”

“I am well aware, Chief Arnook,” Zuko says, but he can hardly hear himself over the roar of blood in his head. “I only ask that, out of the best interests for both of our nations, we look towards the future, not the past. It’s the only thing we can do.”

Chief Arnook looks at Zuko carefully. His gaze feels invasive, as though he’s analyzing every part of him, and it doesn’t quite sit right on his face. He looks like a kind man, a man used to loving and used to forgiving, but the look he gives Zuko is anything but.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” says Chief Arnook, so softly that Zuko has to strain to hear it, “did you, by any chance, know my daughter, Princess Yue?”

Zuko hears Sokka inhale sharply. He doesn’t move.

“I know of her,” says Zuko. “I heard the story of her noble sacrifice to save the m--”

“A sacrifice,” interrupts Chief Arnook, not looking away from Zuko, “that would not have been necessary had the Avatar been at the spirit oasis to defend the moon spirit from that admiral.”

Zuko’s face drains of color.

His friends are murmuring to one another, but Zuko doesn’t hear a word that they’re saying. His nails are digging into the palms of his hands, his body so stiff that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to move after this conversation is over, and he so desperately wants this conversation to be over.

“I…” Zuko swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”

It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough, and Zuko knows that. No amount of reparations or treaties or apologies will ever be able to make up for what has been lost, what the Fire Nation has done, what _Zuko_ has done.

Guilt burns in his lungs. Guilt, regret, _shame_ , and they were all there before, slowly rising to the surface from the moment that Zuko set foot in Ba Sing Se this evening, but now it threatens to strangle him, and Zuko thinks that it would be all too appropriate if he--

 _No,_ Zuko thinks to himself forcefully, disgusted. No. Now is not the time for self-pity.

“I know that nothing I can say or do will ever make up for your loss,” Zuko says, and he feels so much like a child, talking to Chief Arnook, because the man seems so much more controlled and self-assured than Zuko has ever been, “and you are under no obligation to forgive me. But I am willing to do anything - _anything_ \- to show the extent of my regret and to help ease the suffering that the world has faced at the Fire Nation’s or my own hands. I am unable to speak for the actions of my ancestors, but I can speak for my own actions and for my intentions for the future. And my only intention, moving forward, is to help the world heal.”

Zuko bows low, lower than a Fire Lord ever should, and he hears his guards stifle gasps behind him. He stands back up straight, looking Chief Arnook directly in the eye because it’s the least he can do. He wasn’t able to get half of the words that he wanted out of his mouth because his throat was so tight and his heart so loud in his ears.

“I truly am sorry,” Zuko says quietly.

_It is not enough. Nothing is going to be enough._

Chief Arnook looks at him for a long, long time, his expression unreadable.

“Are you staying in the houses that the Earth King has provided for foreign representatives?” he asks abruptly. Zuko blinks.

“Yes,” he says.

“I’d rather that you stay on your ship,” Chief Arnook says, “for the comfort of myself and for my own men.”

“Chief Arnook--” begins Katara.

“I will honor your request,” Zuko says, cutting over her.

The two foreign leaders look at one another for a moment longer. Finally, Chief Arnook nods shortly and walks down the steps of the palace. His men follow, none of them looking at Zuko.

Zuko stands, stock-still, at the top of the steps. His hands are still curled tightly into fists, nails digging so tightly into his skin that he can no longer feel any pain there.

“Hey,” he hears someone say, and there’s a hand coming towards him, and Zuko flinches away instinctively. The hand freezes, and so does Zuko, and he realizes with a start that Katara’s hand is hovering in the air as though she was about to touch his shoulder.

Zuko shakes himself out of his thoughts. His nails stay in his palms, though. He can’t seem to open his hands.

“I’m going to go back to the ship,” he thinks he says, but it’s difficult to know, because he sounds so cold, so distant, so numb. “I’ll see you all tomorrow during the negotiations.”

“Zuko--”

Zuko brushes past his friends, not looking any of them in the eye as he climbs down the steps. He’s too ashamed to.

No one stops him. His guards follow silently behind them, neither of them saying a word as Zuko walks down to where the carriages wait.

The moment that the door to his quarters on the ship closes behind him, Zuko collapses into his chair. He stares down at the papers in front of him.

It will not be enough. It will never be enough.

He wishes Uncle was on the throne. Uncle would do a much better job at handling all of this than he is. He can't-- Zuko can't do this on his own. He doesn't know how to. He doesn't have the skills, the training, the knowledge, the _confidence._ He has hardly come to terms with his own actions, and now he has to defend himself in front of people like Chief Arnook, people who have lost so much because of people like Zuko, because of Zuko's nation, and he doesn't know how to do that.

Uncle would.

But Zuko is the Fire Lord. He is the only representative of the Fire Nation for these negotiations, and he is the only person who can truly make a difference here, however small it may be, however little it may do to make up for the atrocities that he and his nation have committed. Nothing he can do will be enough. He can never make up for the crimes that have been committed, the lives that have been lost.

But he can _try._

Zuko is disgusted with himself, disgusted with the guilt festering in his chest, because he shouldn’t be so focused on _himself_ when there is so much to do, when he has done so much wrong in the world that he can fix, but all of the things that he has ever done wrong are rushing through his head, a relentless tornado of destruction. How could his friends have ever forgiven him? _Have_ they forgiven him?

_Stop. Thinking. About. Yourself._

Zuko opens his hands to light the candle beside his desk and finds that his palms are bleeding. There are crescent moon shaped marks dug into his skin, lined with scarlet, and there is blood beneath his nails.

He takes a deep breath, lighting the candle beside his desk with a snap of his fingers, and quickly wipes his hands on his robes. He turns back towards the papers with a new determination to do _something_ , and it’s less of a determination and more of a desperation, but does that matter?

It doesn’t.

Zuko does not sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ridiculously long notes below - i guess "ridiculously long" is a theme for this chapter lmao)
> 
> As someone whose family was (and is) a victim of imperialism, it's honestly a little odd for me to write from the perspective of someone like Zuko in contexts like this. I feel like everyone always forgets that Zuko is still from an imperialist nation and was, at one point, an imperialist himself. I seriously do think that he got off easy in the show and in the comics. He's hurt people. He's destroyed homes. He's... probably killed people. And, most importantly (in regards to this chapter), he is the leader of a formerly imperialist nation. His nation needs to be held responsible for its crimes. But, at the same time, he's just 16 years old and can't be expected to shoulder this burden all on his own. It's one of the reasons I keep bringing up Iroh.
> 
> The ending to this chapter might be a little misleading, so I want to clarify that although I think Zuko's response (panicking, accidental self harm, drowning himself in work, depriving himself of sleep) was really, really shitty, I do not think that the conclusion that he comes to is wrong. He knows that there is nothing he can do to fix things, but he's going to do his damn best to work towards peace. His feelings of guilt are completely valid, and his coping mechanisms are absolutely horrible, but the thoughts that he has after the conversation with Chief Arnook are not wrong. He's starting on a path towards confronting his own privilege and the responsibility for the war that he now has to shoulder. There is no avoiding it.
> 
> Still. Shoving aside his own feelings and basically punishing himself for thinking about himself when he should be working is really bad, and it is definitely going to be addressed in the upcoming chapters. Zuko is bound to screw up and make mistakes, especially when he's holding himself accountable for things, and it's because he's still just a kid who shouldn't have to worry about this at all.
> 
> (The Chief Arnook scene was inadvertently inspired by Chapter 17 of oldpotatoe's [feels like we only go backwards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268089/chapters/61258207) \- it's an absolutely gorgeous fic, and you should definitely check it out if you haven't already !! The apology they had Zuko say is from an older, more mature, more capable Zuko, and it's wonderfully written.)
> 
> TLDR: Zuko is kind of an unreliable narrator? and imperialism sucks.
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	8. ba sing se (2): familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second day of negotiations. Zuko battles politics, anger, and reunites with Iroh. None of these things leave him very happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Uh. Sorry about the wait for this one - it gave me a serious amount of trouble for some reason. I split it into two chapters (it was supposed to be days 2 and 3 of negotiations in this one, but it was way too long). I'm guessing there will be about 3 more chapters to finish the Ba Sing Se arc, and then we'll move right along into the next one.
> 
> Gonna be honest here, I'm not super happy with this one. I tried to separate it into sections to show the flow of time and how negotiations look without getting too much into detail, but I don't know how well it worked out. It feels a little choppy, and not in a good way? Whatever. I'll get better at it. This is the longest project I've ever taken on, so it's a learning experience :D
> 
> I don't think there's anything requiring a CW in this chapter. It's really just politics and conversation? I'd say that it's mostly a filler chapter, but there are a few fairly crucial moments in here, so.... it's not really. I have three scenes that I'm really looking forward to writing in the upcoming chapters, so stay tuned for that if this one wasn't your favorite (definitely isn't mine lmao).
> 
> Alright. Enjoy! I hope!

**_The second day_ **

Zuko is not going to set Delegate Gwan’s robes on fire.

The Earth Kingdom delegate stands in front of Zuko, an eyebrow raised as Zuko struggles to keep a cap on his temper. It’s the first meeting of the day, one with all four nations in the room, and Delegate Gwan has somehow managed to corner Zuko by one of the windows. He is an older man, perhaps older than Uncle is, and judging by the scars peeking out from beneath his robes, he is someone who has fought in the war, unlike many of the other people in this room. Zuko might feel a sense of kinship there if this entire situation wasn’t happening.

Zuko briefly scans the room from where he stands as best as he can. None of his friends are anywhere in sight, but even if they were, Zuko doubts that they would want to talk to him alone. The only person that he recognizes in the near vicinity is Chief Arnook, chatting with a member of the Southern Water Tribe, and there is no way that Zuko is about to go anywhere near him after last night.

Zuko is alone in this. It’s probably for the best.

“You advocated for the death of your own father,” Delegate Gwan is saying, and it takes Zuko a moment to realize that he’s still speaking. “You speak of cruelty, and yet you attempted to convince the Avatar to kill your father.”

Zuko stiffens.

He should’ve expected this.

“How can we,” the man is saying, and Zuko has to force himself to fully tune back into the conversation, “expect you, someone who has imprisoned his father, imprisoned his sister, and betrayed his uncle, to uphold your promises to the world? How can we expect that you, Ozai’s son, Azulon’s grandson, and Sozin’s great-grandson, will be different from your forefathers?”

_You can’t._

It is Zuko’s greatest fear, greater than his fear that he is not competent enough for the throne. He is terrified that he will forget who he is, forget what he has done, and let the power get to his head, just as it did to his father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather. Just as it did to Azula. It asks him how he dares to think that he might be different, how he dares to assume that he is _better_ than any of them in some way, because Zuko has done terrible, terrible things, and he has only just begun to repair the damage that he has done.

And if he can hardly hold himself responsible, how can he hold a whole nation responsible?

(Azula’s laughter, her screams, echoes in his ears to the pound of his heart.)

“You know,” says Delegate Gwan, “when your father took the throne, there were people who were hopeful even despite the circumstances of his rise to power. People thought that he might be inclined to end the war, having been the second-born and subjected to harsher treatment from his own father.”

Zuko stays silent.

“You imprisoned your uncle,” Gwan says, “and then your father, and then your sister. A man who has no grasp on family loyalty cannot be expected to stay true to a mere promise, held accountable only by his own honor.”

Zuko can hear Sokka’s voice in his head making the joke that this man has run right into, and he almost laughs.

“Delegate Gwan,” says Zuko at last, looking the man directly in the eye, “if you know anything about me, you should know that my honor is the one thing I would do anything to keep.”

Delegate Gwan bristles. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that my father abandoned any pretense of family loyalty long before I did,” Zuko says, allowing a small, humorless smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “I understand your concerns; I can hardly claim to be working towards a better future if my own family does not reflect that. However, Delegate Gwan, my family is a matter that I would prefer to keep separate from political conversation unless proved to be absolutely necessary.”

In all honesty, Zuko would rather not bring his family into any discussion with these politicians at all, but if Delegate Gwan was so bold to approach him with this topic on the _second day_ of negotiations, he doubts that he will be so lucky.

“You condemn your father, but you would defend your sister?” asks Gwan, raising his eyebrows. “The girl who caused the Earth Kingdom to fall? The one who went mad?”

“Make up your mind, Delegate,” Zuko says, an edge to his tone. “You speak of family loyalty, and then you proceed to question my decision regarding said family? I am willing to answer your questions and assure you of my commitment to ending this war, but I would prefer it if you know what you are talking about before speaking.”

“I only mean to say,” says the delegate, raising his hands in a placating gesture, “that I am concerned about where your loyalties lie. You can hardly say that you are committed to ending this war when you are still attached to Princess Azula.”

The way that Gwan spits Azula’s name, her title a mockery, as though her name is a foul taste that he is determined to get off of his tongue, makes everything in Zuko still.

But the man is right, really. How can Zuko talk about ending a war and bringing peace and unity to the world with his own family in the state that it is in? His mother is missing (not dead; Zuko refuses to believe that she is dead), his father imprisoned, his sister in an institution, and yet _Zuko_ is on the throne. People not only have no reason to trust Zuko, but if Zuko’s own family does not reflect what he is saying, how is anyone to believe him?

Zuko’s family is an embodiment of the damage that this war has done, and if he does not acknowledge and repair that, he cannot expect anyone to trust his word.

But it is very, very easy to forget all of this along with his reason when Gwan says Azula’s name in that way.

Zuko opens his mouth, whether to make up some excuse to leave so that he can cool off or breathe fire all over the man, he hasn’t made up his mind. But then a familiar fist smacks the side of his arm, and both Zuko and Gwan jump in surprise.

Zuko had forgotten where he was for a moment.

“Ambassador Beifong,” Delegate Gwan says, with significantly more respect than he’d used with Zuko. “What brings you here?”

“Your dumb voice,” says Toph. She turns to Zuko. “Is he bothering you?”

“Toph,” says Zuko in a pained voice, trying to shove her away from him as gently as he possibly can, but Toph stands firm.

“Fuck off,” she says to Gwan, switching seamlessly from Fire to common Earth. Zuko blinks. “I know you don’t trust him, which is understandable, but that’s no reason to bring up his family. We’re here to talk about politics, not personal shit.”

“Ambassador--” starts Delegate Gwan, continuing to speak in Fire.

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?” Toph asks, ignoring him completely. Her formal Earth accent peeks through the common tone in a weirdly elegant way, contrasting wonderfully against her words. “If you’re going to ask Z-- the Fire Lord, I mean, about his loyalties, do it in a professional way. I knew that you were annoying, but what the fuck?”

“Ambassador!” Gwan’s cheeks are bright red. This time, he speaks in formal Earth, unlike Toph. “You-- You cannot speak to me in that--”

“Yeah, I can,” Toph says. She grins. “Technically, since I’m a Beifong, I outrank you, so I absolutely _can_ speak to you this way. Are you an earthbender? We can settle this Earth Rumble style. Or whatever the Earth Kingdom equivalent of an Agni Kai is.”

Gwan splutters, looking between Toph and Zuko with an incredulous expression. Zuko schools his features into vague confusion, as though he hadn’t understood the conversation that had just played out.

It seems to work, because Delegate Gwan bows stiffly to Zuko.

“I’m needed elsewhere, Fire Lord,” he says, showing no signs that Toph had just cursed him out. “I hope that you can prove me wrong. I look forward to seeing where these negotiations take us.”

“As do I, Delegate Gwan.”

Zuko bows back. Delegate Gwan hurries to leave, glancing over his shoulder at Toph with a mixture of wariness and horror.

The moment that he’s out of earshot, Toph starts cackling.

“I didn’t know that you could understand Earth,” she says, punching him in the arm again. “That was hilarious.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Zuko says reproachfully, rubbing his arm. “I was handling it just fine.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that _near panic attack_ is perfectly fine,” Toph says sarcastically. “I don’t care what you say. I’m not you, so I can do whatever I want, and that guy was annoying _me._ Alright?”

“Okay,” mutters Zuko. “Still. I kind of deserved what he was saying. And he was right.”

Toph pauses.

Then she punches Zuko so hard in the arm that he yelps.

“That _hurt_ ,” he complains.

“That’s for being stupid,” says Toph. “You don’t ‘deserve’ any of that. You should be held accountable, yeah, but that was something else. They don’t have to trust you, but you shouldn’t think you deserve everything they throw at you. And are you really trying to say that you _shouldn’t_ have thrown your dad in jail? Because that’s stupid. You’re dumb.”

“You’ve said that, yeah.”

“The fact that I’m saying it more than once means that you’re dumber than I originally thought.”

Zuko can’t stop a snort from escaping from between his lips. He doesn’t quite want to go back to hostile delegates and passive-aggressive sneers yet, and maybe Toph can sense this, because she leans back against the wall with her arms folded, a musing expression on her face. Zuko takes the gesture for what it is and pretends to look at some of the documents in his hands, as though they’re engaged in a very important political conversation.

“So,” Toph says, “I’m going to assume that you didn’t learn common Earth in the palace?”

“Yeah,” says Zuko. “I learned formal in the palace, but I learned common as a refugee in the Earth Kingdom. What about you? I can’t imagine the Beifong family going around spitting curses all day.”

“Earth Rumble,” says Toph, like that explains everything.

“Earth Rumble?”

“Earth Rumble. Underground earthbending fighting ring. I was the reigning champion for a really long time. Up until Aang showed up and cheated his way to victory, at least.”

“You were in an underground--”

“You were a refugee. You don’t get to talk.”

Zuko closes his eyes. “Toph. Technically speaking, almost everyone was a refugee.”

“Most of the people in this room weren’t,” Toph points out. “None of the kings or chiefs here were. You’re the only foreign leader who was, and I somehow doubt that any of the delegates here found themselves wandering a foreign country, starving and fearing for their lives. Come to think of it, I don’t think even a quarter of the people here even fought in the war. It kind of shows.”

“Toph,” says Zuko exasperatedly. “These are important people.”

“And you’re not?” Toph shakes her head. “You’ve got to be the dumbest Fire Lord in Fire Nation history. Anyways, that’s not why I’m here. We’re taking you to the Jasmine Dragon after your meetings today.”

Zuko blinks. “What?”

“You heard me. We’re seeing Uncle Iroh.”

“Why are _you_ calling him Uncle?”

Toph gives him a look. “Because my parents suck and your uncle doesn’t. We’re going after all of your meetings end, so you don’t have an excuse not to go. You need a break, Sparky.”

“Work doesn’t end just because my meetings do,” says Zuko. “Besides, I don’t end until late at night.”

Toph shrugs. “Then we’ll go late at night. See you.”

“What--”

And she’s gone.

Zuko thinks that it’s probably best that she didn’t let him decide.

\---

“Delegate Kim,” Zuko says bewilderedly, “troops should have been pulled out of your kingdom three weeks ago.”

“Fire Lord Zuko.” Delegate Kim gives him a look that he might think was exasperated if it wasn’t for the tense set of her jaw. “I can show you the report if you wish, but we have received no notice of any intention of the Fire Nation to withdraw its troops from any part of the world until this negotiation. Your nation’s soldiers have been stationed in my kingdom long after you announced the end of the war. General Liu--”

“It was General Liu?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Of course it was General Liu.

_That fucking bastard._

\---

Sokka pulls him away from a Northern Water Tribe delegate about halfway through the third meeting of the day. Zuko, spluttering and trying his best to contain his indignation, can only apologize profusely to the delegate as Sokka drags him off.

“What the hell, Sokka?” snaps Zuko, yanking his arm away from him. “That was important! You’re not even supposed to be in this meeting!”

Sokka squints at him. “You skipped breakfast. I brought you some rice cakes. Did you sleep?”

“Not important,” Zuko says tersely, but he reluctantly accepts the rice cakes. “Hurry up and say what you need so I can get back to work.”

Sokka raises both of his eyebrows, folding his arms across his chest. He looks unusually serious, his expression unreadable as he meets Zuko’s eyes. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Zuko feels his heart drop into his stomach. He’s been expecting this. “If this is about last night--”

“It isn’t-- Well, it kind of is,” amends Sokka. He makes a face. “Leaving us like that? Agreeing to sleep on your ship and ditching us? Not cool, dude. We were going to have so much fun! Like Ember Island, except no war. Well, yes war, but not in that way.”

“I didn’t think you would want to be around me.”

Zuko braces himself for what he’s been internally preparing for all day. But Sokka doesn’t yell or shout or anything. He just sighs.

“Look,” says Sokka quietly. “That’s actually what I came here to say. I don’t blame you for what happened at the Siege of the North. With-- with Yue.”

Zuko stares.

“I don’t--” Sokka breaks off. He sighs again. “I can’t speak for Chief Arnook, obviously, because he clearly blames you. But I don’t blame you. And I know you think that I do, and I know how you get when things like this happen. I saw how you were acting last night. So I just wanted to say that I don’t blame you.”

“Why don’t you?” asks Zuko blankly. “What happened to Yue was - _is_ \- my fault. I shouldn’t have--”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sokka cuts over him, “because _you_ didn’t kill the moon spirit. _Zhao_ did. Not you. Even if Aang had still been there, there’s no way of knowing what would’ve happened. Zhao still could’ve found a way. I don’t blame you, Zuko.”

Zuko looks away. “You should,” he says quietly. “Chief Arnook is right, you know. Even if my intentions are different, now, I’ve done so much wrong. I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve hurt people, Sokka.”

“You think that I haven’t?” snorts Sokka. “We’re all products of this war, just in different ways.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Sokka groans, throwing his head back. “Tui and La. It’s like you’re _trying_ to make me hate you again. Of course it isn’t better! It’s an explanation, not an excuse.”

His moods sobers as he looks at Zuko again. “Zuko, it took me a long time to come to terms with Yue’s death. I… I honestly don’t know if I’m there yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be. But I spent months being so angry at the Fire Nation, at Zhao, at _you_ , and it’s a large part of why I couldn’t trust you at first. Obviously, there was also the fact that you chased us all around the world like a maniac, but other than that.”

Zuko allows a hint of a smile to flicker over his face. Encouraged, Sokka continues.

“I know that your past is shitty,” says Sokka, “and I know that you used to do shitty things, and I’m obviously not trying to brush over that. But what’s in the past is in the past, and we can’t do anything to change that. There’s no use in wondering what could’ve been.”

Sokka reaches out, putting his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. His hand is warm, weighted, secure. “I don’t blame you, Zuko. Not anymore.”

Zuko is overwhelmed and incredibly confused, so he doesn’t respond. Sokka seems to take this as doubt, however, because yet another sigh escapes from between his lips. “Spirits, I’m bad at this. I should’ve asked Aang to come with me. He’s much better at this kind of stuff than I am. But you get my point, right? I don’t blame you. So stop blaming yourself. Okay?”

“Alright,” concedes Zuko, because his throat is much too tight to say anything more, and his head is spinning a little bit. Sokka squeezes his shoulder, smiling at him, and Zuko manages a small smile back.

“You’re coming with us to the Jasmine Dragon, right?” asks Sokka, after a brief pause, because it doesn’t feel right to go straight back to politics after this conversation. “Your uncle misses you a lot.”

“I…” Zuko hesitates, though he isn’t sure why. “I guess so.”

“Good. And I’m not leaving until you eat your rice cakes, because I really don’t want to see Mai’s reaction if she finds out that her boyfriend hasn’t been eating.”

Zuko doesn’t either. He eats his rice cakes.

\---

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” sneers the Northern Water Tribe delegate. “You look just like your father. It’s not a surprise that you would act like him, too.”

Zuko closes his eyes.

He doesn’t even know if he has the right to be angry at her words.

\---

In an impressive display of stubbornness and sheer force of will, his friends somehow manage to shake off his guards after his last meeting ends to take him to the Jasmine Dragon.

Zuko still isn’t sure why he didn’t want to come. Work was part of it, yes, but there was something else beneath it, some fear that Zuko doesn’t want to pick apart quite yet, something quiet and angry and bitter that he’s pushed aside since assuming the throne.

It’s not that he doesn’t miss Uncle. Because he does, more than anything. He just…

He doesn’t know, actually.

Zuko shoves aside the thoughts, as he always does, and forces himself to think about something else. He remembers the first day that he and Uncle were here, how he swept the floors and took orders and delivered tea to customers on opening day, and his heart clenches a little. 

Things have changed so much.

But then Zuko catches a glimpse of a familiar figure inside of the building, and he feels his face brighten. He grabs Aang’s wrist, and they hurry forward.

“Cool your flames, Sparky!” Toph shouts, and Zuko hears the sound of three pairs of shoes slapping against the stone street. They catch up with Aang and Zuko quickly, and the five of them rush up the stone steps into the tea shop.

Zuko stops dead in his tracks as his eyes land on Uncle, humming a tune and smiling as he sweeps the floor.

It is an achingly familiar sight. It reminds him of flowers and bright skies and sunlight filtering in through the window in the apartment above the tea shop, and Zuko _hurts_ with the memory.

“Uncle,” Zuko rasps. His uncle looks up, a smile spreading across his face, and all traces of the darker emotions swimming in Zuko’s head vanish immediately.

"Zuko!”

Uncle drops the broom on the ground, rushing towards Zuko with his arms outstretched. Zuko is rooted where he stands, and he can do nothing more than return the hug with unsteady arms as Uncle wraps him completely in a warm embrace.

It feels like he has come home at last.

"I’ve missed you, nephew,” says Uncle softly.

"I--”

Zuko can’t even finish what he was going to say, but then Uncle’s arms tighten around him, and Zuko doesn’t need to. Zuko breathes, and to his horror, his breath trembles with suppressed emotion. He closes his eyes, dropping his head because he’s too tall to bury his face into Uncle’s shoulder now, hyper-aware of all of his friends standing behind him, watching, and he is not going to cry, he is not going to cry, _he is not going to cry._

Uncle holds him close. Zuko lets himself be held, not as a Fire Lord, but as Zuko, Iroh’s nephew.

When they finally pull apart, Uncle is wiping his eyes on his sleeve, and Zuko is very determinedly not looking at any of his friends.

“Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon,” says Uncle with a warm smile, spreading his arms. “Shall I put on a pot of tea?”

Zuko chokes on a laugh.

Everything and nothing has changed.

Uncle pours them each a cup and slides a plate of pastries onto the table. The tea shop is empty despite the busy hour, and Uncle says that he closed the shop for the day in anticipation of their visit.

“We’ve been planning to visit him for ages,” says Aang, taking a careful sip from his teacup. Momo screeches impatiently, and Aang dips his finger into the cup and holds it out to Momo. “Since the day you told us that we’d all be in Ba Sing Se, actually.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t go with you today?” Zuko asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Blackmail,” Toph says, like it’s obvious. “But we’re saving that for when you stop eat--”

Zuko breaks into a very sudden, very loud coughing fit. Everyone stares at him.

“Are you alright, nephew?” Uncle asks concernedly.

“Fine,” he says, glaring at Toph as subtly as he can. He forces a smile, turning to his uncle. “How’s the tea shop faring, Uncle? It looks different from last time.”

In the minutes that follow, Zuko very determinedly steers the conversation far away from himself and from politics, even when his friends make clear efforts to bring up his refusal to sleep or eat properly. He glares at them as best as he can or quickly jumps in with a request for Aang and Katara to retell a story from their adventures all over the world, and it works, for the most part.

At least until Uncle starts to clean up and asks Zuko to bring the dishes to the kitchen with him.

“You have grown so tall, Zuko,” Uncle says, smiling up at him as Zuko ducks into the kitchen and sets the dishes on the counter. “You look more like a Fire Lord than you ever have.”

Zuko flushes. “I feel like a kid playing dress-up most days,” he admits. “I’m so used to seeing these robes on Ozai that it feels weird to see them on me.”

“You are infinitely more capable than my brother ever was,” Uncle says firmly, grasping Zuko’s arm. “You are going to do great things, my nephew. I have complete faith in you.”

_That makes one of us._

Uncle’s smile fades as he looks into Zuko’s face. His eyebrows knit together, lips pressing tightly as he reaches up to trace the spots below Zuko’s eyes.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he says quietly. Zuko immediately pulls away, glancing to where his friends sit, chattering and laughing together.

“I’m fine, Uncle,” he says. He was stupid to think that Uncle wouldn’t notice the dark circles, his weary expression, because he’d noticed every single time during Zuko’s banishment. “Don’t worry about me. It was just a one time thing.”

“Zuko,” says Uncle, and he sounds so much like how he did in the years of Zuko’s banishment when he would walk in on him poring over maps into the early hours of the morning that Zuko bristles instinctively.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he snaps, an edge to his tone, and now he really does sound like the banished prince that he used to be. His shoulders slump as he closes his eyes, angry at himself for the outburst. “I know how to take care of myself. I’m fine.”

Uncle gives him a familiar, appraising look, the look that he gives him when he doesn’t quite believe him but isn’t willing to call him out on it. “Zuko,” he says, carefully, “you can talk to me. I may be in Ba Sing Se now, but you are here for this week. I am only a messenger hawk away from the Fire Nation. You can write to me or visit when you have a spare--”

“I understand,” Zuko interrupts, and there’s an odd emotion that he doesn’t like climbing into his thoughts. He shakes his head in a desperate attempt to clear it. “I’ve-- I’ve got to get going, Uncle. I’ve got a meeting to get to. I’ll come visit again soon, when I have time.”

Uncle is giving him a sad look, one that almost seems knowing, but even Zuko doesn’t know why he’s like this all of a sudden, so there’s no way that he’s reading that right.

(Then again, Uncle has always known Zuko better than he ever has.)

“I’ll be here whenever you need me,” he says, and Zuko just about starts crying right then and there. But he keeps it together, giving Uncle a nod, and the two of them leave the kitchen.

“I should get going,” says Zuko. Aang drops the pastry that he was bringing to his mouth, and Sokka nearly spills tea all over himself. “You all can stay here, but I can’t afford to be gone longer than I already have been. I’m the only Fire Nation representative in Ba Sing Se. If they need me, I’ve got to be there.”

There is too much truth to that statement for anyone to argue. Katara looks worried, Aang looks crushed, Sokka looks disappointed, and Toph…

Toph looks like she knows exactly what is happening.

“Katara, take Zuko back so that he doesn’t get himself assassinated,” says Toph, leaning back in her chair to rest her feet on the table. Zuko pauses, momentarily, at the use of Katara’s real name, indicating an unusual seriousness, but then rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to get--”

“Good idea, Toph,” Katara says, and Zuko stares. He looks at Aang and Sokka, neither of whom look surprised, and Zuko can’t help but wonder if this was planned in some way.

“I can handle myself,” says Zuko slowly.

“Sure you can,” says Toph. “At least, you can when you haven’t been up for three days straight and when you’ve eaten properly. Neither of which you’ve achieved.”

“Come on, Zuko,” Katara says, grabbing Zuko’s hand.

“You don’t have to--”

“Zuko,” says Uncle, and his voice is so gentle that it cuts right through the pounding in Zuko’s head. He looks at him, into his worried eyes. “Go with her.”

And Zuko can’t just say no to that. Not when he’s leaving him.

(Why is Zuko leaving him? Why is he leaving the one person that he has been wanting to see since he left the palace? Why didn’t he want to come?)

“Alright,” Zuko says, looking away.

He hugs Uncle, says goodbye to his friends, and he and Katara walk out of the tea shop, starting on the path back towards the palace. Katara sighs blissfully, closing her eyes and breathing the fresh air in.

“It’s amazing to be back here,” she says quietly. Her hand is cool in his, reminding him of her soothing touch in those days he’d been confined to the bed after the Agni Kai. “I never thought I’d be here with you, either, _Fire Lord Zuko._ ”

“Don’t,” groans Zuko as she laughs. “Don’t even. You know I hate it when my friends call me that.”

“All the more reason to do it.”

Their conversation is light as they continue down the street, but for the most part, they are quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company. Zuko feels himself relax the more they walk together, and eventually, almost all of the tension is gone in his shoulders. He looks up at the darkened sky, at the silver moon and the stars shining above.

He wonders what Azula is doing now. He hopes that her room in the institution has enough sunlight.

“You should come sleep with us in the house,” says Katara abruptly, as they’re approaching the steps to the palace. “It’s lonely without you there. Suki having to stay with the rest of the Kyoshi warriors is bad enough. Two people gone is too much for us.”

“Chief Arnook--”

“Forget Chief Arnook. You can’t sleep on a ship for the rest of the week.”

“I did it for two and a half years.”

Katara stops walking. She turns to face Zuko all the way, squeezing his hands tightly as she holds them up.

“I should clarify,” she says, eyebrows raised. “I’m not going to let you stay on a ship for the rest of the week because you don’t sleep without someone forcing you, and since you’re the Fire Lord, your crew and your guards can’t make you do anything, even if they might want to. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Yes, it is,” snaps Zuko, and he’s not sure where this sudden defensiveness is coming from, but it’s there, and it’s definitely got something to do with his conversation with Uncle. He lets go of Katara’s hands. “I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need your help. I’m doing what needs to be done. I don’t know what you and everyone else have discussed, but I don’t need to be pitied. I’m doing fine. I’m not _weak_.”

He. He sounds like Azula.

He sounds like-- like himself. The person he used to be.

“Who said you were weak?” Katara asks, confused, because she doesn’t get it. “Of course you’re not weak. We’re your friends, Zuko; we’re just worried--”

“Then stop worrying,” Zuko says sharply. “If I’m your friend, then believe me when I say that I’m fine. Okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He climbs up the steps of the palace without a second glance over his shoulder.

\---

Across the ocean, hundreds of miles away, Azula wakes up strapped to a bed in a windowless room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> As always, leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! Even if this isn't the best chapter, I really hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	9. ba sing se (3): fresh smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko battles politics pt 2, except it actually goes fairly okay this time. The other thing... doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't give a CW without major spoilers, but there is violence at the end of the chapter. I'll stick a quick summary and more detailed warning in the end notes. Don't go to the end notes unless you're okay with knowing what happens!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter !! The next one should be a bit lighter if things go according to plan :)

**_The third day_ **

Zuko actually sleeps the night before the third day. Mostly to pretend like yesterday’s visit to the Jasmine Dragon never happened.

Spirits. He misses Mai so much.

The bed feels so much colder without her presence, but he does sleep. Although he is still far from fully rested, he manages to stay completely focused on all of his meetings that morning, and he’s quite proud of the things that he’s accomplished during that time. Earth King Kuei is finally starting to warm up to him, and they have a general idea of what their plans are for the colonies, finally.

“The newest ones are going, obviously,” Zuko says with a wave of his hands. He’s standing outside of the palace beside Ty Lee, both of them leaning against one of the large pillars. Zuko had paused to steady himself after a random bout of dizziness (Katara’s voice in his head tells him that it’s because he needs to eat and sleep more, which he ignores), and Ty Lee, posted at the top of the stairs, had quickly changed spots with another Kyoshi warrior to make sure that he was okay. Which he was.  _ Is _ . He’s completely fine.

“Obviously,” says Ty Lee, echoing his casual tone with a smile. “What about the old ones, then? Some of them have been around for a hundred years.”

“That’s where the problem is.” Zuko sighs. “We can’t just remove all Fire Nation citizens from those places because a lot of those families have been there for decades. It technically should be Earth Kingdom land since I’m trying to give it all back with this treaty, but… the old ones. They’re not Fire Nation, but they’re not Earth Kingdom, either, and it’s putting a wrench in something that should be so straightforward. I wish I could talk to them and see what _they_ want, but I can’t exactly go down as the _Fire_ _Lord_ and expect them to tell me anything.”

Ty Lee muses for a moment. “Why not let them decide?” she asks. “They can vote and say if they want to be part of the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom, or maybe something else entirely.”

“A vote?” asks Zuko blankly. “That-- That’s an option?”

Ty Le giggles. “Of course it is,” she says. “I was talking with one of the Southern Water Tribe warriors during my shift last night. He said that they make all of their decisions as a community. They’ll put it up to a vote most of the time, just to see everyone’s stances, and the majority wins.”

Zuko stares at Ty Lee.

“You’re a genius,” he says hoarsely. Ty Lee beams. “Spirits, you’re a  _ genius, _ Ty Lee, oh,  _ Agni. _ I’m-- Can I hug you?”

“Is that ever a question that needs to be asked?”

Zuko throws his arms around Ty Lee, and she squeezes him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“Thank you,” says Zuko. “Thank you, thank you,  _ thank you. _ ”

“You’re welcome, Zuko,” laughs Ty Lee. “If I’d known my advice would make you this happy, I would’ve offered it a long time ago.”

“A vote,” Zuko says with some wonderment. “A vote. I didn’t even think of that. I’m pretty sure that some Fire Nation cities had that system in place for appointing governors, but Sozin got rid of it when he came to power so he could micromanage everything.”

“If Sozin got rid of it, it probably means it was a good idea.”

Zuko smiles. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

His smile fades as his mind starts to whirl. “It’s not a perfect solution,” he says, “but it’s something. It’s definitely a start. I’ll have to talk with the Earth King about organizing voting locations and counting methods. We’ll need to get as many people’s voices heard as possible, so perhaps making the voting mandatory? Would that go over well?”

Ty Lee yawns exaggeratedly. “That’s my cue to leave,” she says, pulling away from him. She smiles. “You’re doing great, Zuko. Really. Just remember to take some time for yourself, and you’ll be golden. More golden than usual, anyways!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Zuko mutters. “I’m  _ fine. _ ”

Ty Lee raises her eyebrows. “I never said that you weren’t,” she points out.

“Oh. Well. I  _ am _ fine.”

“If you say so, Fire Lord.”

“Stop that.”

\---

Zuko pulls Katara aside at one of the meetings, apologizing to the delegate she’d been talking to. Katara looks at him quizzically but doesn’t protest as he leads her to the far corner of the room, away from prying ears.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the moment that he’s certain no one is listening. “About yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Katara blinks. “Why are you apologizing?” she asks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I--” Zuko sighs, closing his eyes as he rubs his forehead. He has to resist running a hand over his head, because his top knot barely holds as it is. “I did, though. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, and I definitely shouldn’t have walked away like that. I’m really sorry. I keep thinking that I’m getting a hold on my temper, and then something like that happens again.”

Instead of looking frustrated, like he’d expected, Katara just looks amused.

“Zuko,” she says slowly, drawing his name out. “You’re… kind of dumb?”

“I’ve heard,” says Zuko drily, and he can almost feel Toph’s fist on his arm as Katara laughs.

“You’re only human,” Katara says. “You’re under an insane amount of pressure, you’re back in a city that you lived in for weeks, and you saw your uncle living the life that you could’ve had in a different time. Of  _ course _ you were going to feel weird.”

Sometimes, Zuko wonders if Katara is actually just a nicer Azula, because they both have an uncanny ability to find exactly the thing he hadn’t been able to find.

This is one of those times.

“I’m still sorry,” mutters Zuko. “You were only trying to help, and I pushed you away. I’ve got to stop doing that.”

Katara shrugs. “Yeah,” she says. “But you know that we’ll all still be here, right? Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

Judging by the look in her blue eyes, Zuko has a feeling that she’s not just referring to the events of last night.

“Yeah,” he says, after a brief pause. “I… yeah. I’ll-- I’ll think about that.”

Katara smiles at him, squeezing his arm as she walks away, and that just confirms that she definitely wasn’t just talking about last night. Zuko turns, watching her go over to Aang and strike up a cheerful conversation under the guise of politics.

That… didn’t go at all how he expected it to. Then again, nothing ever does.

He said he would think about it. And he will. He knows that he’ll turn the thought over and over again in his mind until it becomes smoother than a piece of sea glass, knows that he’ll be pondering on the decision for hours and hours to come.

He’d told Chief Hakoda part of it. But he’s never told anyone the full story, not even Uncle, and he doesn’t know if he wants to see the looks on his friends’ faces if he tells them even snippets of his story. And the idea of relying on them for some kind of emotional support makes him sick to his stomach, makes him think of weakness and his failures all over again.

They wouldn’t get it if he told them. He can’t imagine what anyone would gain from him telling his story in full.

He’s been weak once before. He won’t be weak again.

But he’ll think about it.

He will definitely think about it.

\---

The interesting thing happens right after lunch. Zuko is sitting next to Aang, as usual, Zuko explaining the finer details of the proposed piece of legislation while Aang nods along vaguely, when Zuko notices that people are shouting.

He and Aang look up at the same time to see an Earth Kingdom and a Northern Water Tribe delegate engaged in a heated argument, both of them speaking in increasingly raised voices. The men are red in the face, talking fast and interrupting one another, spitting all over the place as their yelling grows louder and louder.

“That doesn’t look good,” Zuko says, and then he hears the words  _ ashlover _ being spit from the mouth of the Northern Water Tribe delegate, and everything suddenly makes a lot of sense.

“I should go over there.” Aang stands up, airbending himself over the table. And that’s when it happens.

The Earth Kingdom delegate punches the Northern Water Tribe delegate in the face.

There are gasps, followed immediately by a silence that sweeps over the entire room. The Northern Water Tribe delegate slowly gets to his feet, a large red mark blooming on his cheek, as an expression of realization and horrified regret begins to spread over the other delegate’s own face.

All Zuko can think, as Aang sends a huge gust of wind that blows the two of them far apart from one another and Toph immediately restrains them in rock, is that he’s just surprised that it took this long to happen.

\---

“While we’re on the topic,” Zuko says in one meeting, causing a few heads to pop up around the table, “I was wondering what Avatar Aang’s position might be for an effort to rebuild and restore the Air Temples. It’s about time that we do so, and it should go without saying that the Fire Nation would fund it. We could organize a remembrance ceremony for the Air Nomads as well, a day to honor and properly mourn…”

Zuko trails off, realizing that Aang is staring at him with huge eyes. He falters, and everyone else around him falls silent as well.

“Is that…” Zuko hesitates, suddenly very aware that he may have overstepped a major boundary. “Is that okay?”

Aang throws his arms around Zuko, paying absolutely zero attention to the murmurs of surprise around the room. Zuko freezes momentarily, taken aback, but Aang doesn’t seem to care about the stares that they’re attracting.

So Zuko doesn’t either.

“Thank you,” Aang whispers, and his voice breaks slightly. “Thank you.”

\---

“This is a good place to end, then. We got a lot done today.”

There are murmurs of agreement from the other side of the table at Chief Arnook’s words as the Northern Water Tribe gets to their feet. Zuko spares a glance out of the window. Darkness has fallen; the sun set ages ago.

Most of the delegates seem satisfied with the terms that Zuko has agreed to, some of them nodding at Zuko in acknowledgement as they filter out of the room. Zuko nods back, doing his very best to keep the weariness out of his expression. He tenses slightly as Chief Arnook starts to walk past him. But the chief merely pauses, glancing at Zuko. His expression is unreadable as his eyes meet Zuko’s.

Then he gives Zuko a short, respectful nod. Zuko returns it.

The door shuts behind him, and Zuko slumps back into his chair, allowing himself to feel the exhaustion that has been creeping in at the back of his head now that he is finally alone. He can’t even allow himself to feel some sense of victory at Chief Arnook’s nod to him because his head is spinning so much.

Had Zuko brought his ministers, he might’ve had some more time to himself like the rest of his friends do, but because he is the only person from the Fire Nation with the authority to contribute to these negotiations, his presence is needed at every single meeting. Every single one, because every single thing about these negotiations revolves around the Fire Nation. As it is, Zuko has not had a moment of rest since yesterday’s visit to the Jasmine Dragon.

_ One more meeting, _ Zuko thinks to himself tiredly as he drops forward, resting his face in his hands.  _ Just one more. _

And he might actually be able to sleep tonight. His talks with Earth Kingdom delegates were productive, and his meeting with the Northern Water Tribe went surprisingly well. Chief Arnook seems to have moved beyond outright hatred of Zuko, which he considers to be the greatest victory of today.

There’s just the Southern Water Tribe left, and then Zuko can go back to his ship.

He shouldn’t be dreading this meeting, because the people involved in this one actually trust him, but he is. The Fire Nation’s relentless raids on the Southern Water Tribe, more than any other nation experienced, are not exactly a comfortable topic. Chief Hakoda’s wife, Katara and Sokka’s mother, died during one of those raids. Zuko can’t imagine this meeting going particularly well for anyone involved.

All he can offer for the time being are apologies and reparations, and it is laughably insignificant in the face of everything. If Chief Hakoda, Katara, and Sokka come out of this meeting hating him, well, Zuko isn’t going to blame them.

The door opens, and Zuko lifts his head in time to see Sokka almost fall right onto his face as he trips over an uneven panel in the wood floor.

“You did  _ not _ see that,” Sokka says as he straightens up, pointing at Zuko. Katara and Chief Hakoda and his men filter in behind him. Katara gives Zuko a wave, which he returns.

“Definitely didn’t,” Zuko says.

The meeting goes… well. There is a moment of tension in which the matter of the raids is brought up, and everyone goes dead silent for a few painful moments as Zuko struggles to come up with something to say. But it seems as though Chief Hakoda had said something to his men about Zuko prior to the meeting, because they’re all treating him with less hostility and more of a detached coolness. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than how everyone else has been treating him, so he takes it in stride.

No matter what Toph says, he really does deserve much worse.

“I know that no amount of money will ever be able to make up for your tribe’s losses,” says Zuko at one point, when he senses the beginnings of a particularly volatile moment approaching. “However, I do hope that, at the very least, it can provide a tangible example of the Fire Nation’s determination and willingness to help your tribe heal. There is much still to be done, and I am not so bold to assume that these reparations will be the end of the healing process. I consider it to be a small first step, one that will precede far more impactful efforts between our nations in the future. Between  _ all _ of the nations.”

He is, as he has been throughout the negotiations for reparations, as generous as he possibly can afford to be while keeping in mind the precarious state of the Fire Nation’s economy. Several of Chief Hakoda’s men look surprised when Zuko suggests that the Fire Nation pay an amount nearly twice the proposed number.

_ It is not enough _ , Zuko thinks to himself, the same words that he thought when he was standing at the top of the palace steps with Chief Arnook.  _ It will never be enough. _

“Thank you, Fire Lord Zuko,” Chief Hakoda says. The meeting has drawn to a close, and he’s standing in front of Zuko with his arms folded. All of his men are talking excitedly to each other, most of them smiling. “The Southern Water Tribe has experienced… much loss at the hands of the Fire Nation. I truly never thought that this day would come, but I cannot express how pleasantly surprised I am that it has.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Zuko says, guilt twisting in his chest as he looks away from Chief Hakoda’s gaze. “Everything that this war has done - none of it should have happened in the first place. I only seek to undo the damage that my forefathers have lay upon the world. I should not be thanked for doing the right thing.”

Chief Hakoda shrugs, a casual gesture that breaks the formal atmosphere that had persisted for so long. “You’re right,” he says. “But I will say, Fire Lord Zuko, that although you still have much to learn and much to be held accountable for, you are stepping up to the challenge admirably. You are an honorable man.”

Zuko’s eyes widen - his good eye does, at least, as best as it can. Chief Hakoda smiles at him, then gestures to his men to follow him as he leaves the room. He gives Zuko one last wave before he exits, one that Zuko returns in a haze of disbelief, and the door shuts behind him.

“You’re really cool, you know that?”

Zuko jumps, startled out of his stupor, and turns to see both Sokka and Katara standing on the other side of the room, smiling at him. It hits him, at that moment, just how alike they look, with their bright blue eyes and smiles that curve up in the same sharp, yet somehow gentle, way. He can see hints of Chief Hakoda in their features, too, and he wonders how much of their mother is echoed in them.

“Huh?” he says.

“You’re really good at all of this political stuff,” says Sokka. “It’s seriously impressive, honestly. You’re as good as the rest of the people here, and you don’t have anywhere near as much experience as them.”

Zuko’s cheeks flush a dark red; he’s never been able to handle compliments. “Why are you guys still here?” he asks, ignoring Sokka completely. He seriously can’t tell if he’s joking or not, although sarcasm tends to be fairly obvious with Sokka.

“You really thought we were going to leave you in here to rot?” asks Katara. “You’d just drown yourself in work again.”

“I was actually going to sleep tonight,” says Zuko drily, “but now you’re making me want to stay up just because you said that.”

Sokka looks at Katara. “The blackmail,” he says. “Please. He’s literally asking for it.”

“Toph would actually kill me if I let you do it without her,” says Katara. “No.”

The three of them walk out of the room, Sokka’s arms thrown around both Katara and Zuko. Eiji and Akira jump up from where they’d been standing with two Kyoshi warriors by the door and quickly follow, Eiji rubbing his eyes and failing to suppress a yawn. Zuko makes a mental note to let them leave before the end of his meetings next time.

For the first time since coming to the negotiations (though, if he’s being honest, since he assumed the throne), he feels like he’s making progress. Every single meeting today went better than he ever could’ve expected, even if one of them had ended in a fistfight. People are actually starting to warm up to him a little bit, regarding him less as Ozai’s son and more as Zuko, as the beginning of a new age for the Fire Nation, as his actions begin to reflect his words.

Things are actually beginning to look up.

“We should visit Uncle soon,” says Zuko abruptly as they walk down the palace steps. “I think I’ll have some more time now that things are going well. My visit was so short last time.”

He still doesn’t know why he walked out like that. His friends didn’t, and don’t, ask for an explanation, though. Not that he would have one to give if they did. But there was anger in Zuko when he looked at Uncle, anger that boiled with a different intensity than it did during his banishment, with tendrils of smoke laced with some other emotion, something more raw, vulnerable, and he would rather not begin to unpack that here. If ever.

He has never truly been angry with Uncle. Desperate, yes, and afraid, confused, frustrated, but never  _ angry. _ Not in the way that counts. He doesn’t know if that was anger, either. He’s so used to disguising his emotions with anger that it all starts to blend together at some point.

He doesn’t know if he wants to see Uncle again. In theory, he does, but the idea of having to face him again after--

After what? After walking out on him?

There’s something else. Zuko doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t think he wants to know.

(Azula would know.)

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Katara says, leaning forward to look around Sokka at Zuko. “He said we could stop by anytime. We should go tomorrow morning, before meetings, for breakfast!”

“My first meeting isn’t until two hours after sunrise,” says Zuko. “I’m packed until nightfall after that, though. We could--”

“No,” says Sokka flatly. “I love you guys, but there is no way I’m waking up at sunrise for  _ tea, _ Iroh or not. Firebenders are insane. I’m including you in that, Katara. We’re going for lunch, and that’s final.”

“Sheesh, alright,” Katara grumbles. “You should try going to bed early. You know that it’s possible to sleep before the morning hits, right?”

“Hey, my brain works the best at obscenely late hours of the night, alright? And it’s not my fault if night tends to bleed into the morning!”

“I second this,” says Zuko.

“At least I get sleep,” Sokka says.

“I was defending you!”

They go as far as the neighborhood that the delegates have been assigned to, at which point Zuko has to take a carriage back to his ship. Sokka tries his best to drag Zuko into the house with him, but Zuko firmly refuses. He and Katara wave as they walk back into the house, and Zuko turns away, but not before he sees Sokka lean down to whisper something into Katara’s ear, a conspiratorial grin on his face.

Great. He has a feeling he might be expecting two Water Tribe siblings on his ship at some point this evening.

“If they try to come on board tonight, let them,” Zuko says to his guards tiredly as they exit the carriage, walking up the ramp to the ship. “They might bring Aang and Toph, too, now that I think of it. Just let them. They’ll never let me live it down if you all try to arrest them.”

“Understood, Fire Lord,” Eiji says, a smile audible in his voice. “I’ll let the night shift know.”

Zuko is smiling softly to himself when he walks into his quarters, the door shutting with a gentle click behind him. He’s gotten all of his work done for today at negotiations. All of the meetings went by miraculously well. He can actually feel progress being made, each stitch being sewn over the tattered skin of the gash the Fire Nation has left on the world, and the stitches are small, the thread thin, but it’s  _ something. _ It’s the first truly good day that he’s had in awhile.

And now he has no obligations left but to sleep.

He… actually feels  _ hope. _

Zuko sighs, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. Slowly, he takes the crown off of his head and lets his hair down from the topknot, feeling the tension in his head release as the weight lifts. Maybe he’ll write to Mai now that he has some time. And then he’ll go to sleep, finally, because now he actually feels like he deserves it, and tomorrow they’ll visit Uncle, and he can apologize for yesterday’s fiasco, because things, good things, are actually starting to get done, and--

There’s someone in his room.

Zuko’s eyes fly open just in time to see a hooded, masked figure dressed entirely in black lunge at him from behind his bed, the blade of a sword flashing.

_ Shit. _

Zuko dives to the side out of instinct alone, just barely avoiding a sword to the neck. He rolls to the side again as the figure grunts, slashing at the air, but exhaustion slows him down, and Zuko gasps as the bite of metal slices through his shoulder, tearing through the fabric and opening the skin below. Adrenaline surges through his body, replacing the heaviness that a lack of sleep and food had given him, and he immediately kicks up and around. The sword clatters to the ground in a horrible clang of metal.

The person freezes, clearly stunned, and Zuko immediately tackles them to the ground, one knee on their back and their arms held tight behind them.

“Who sent you?” Zuko growls, tightening his grip. The person beneath him - a man, Zuko guesses - hisses in pain, struggling vainly.

“I’m here on behalf of the Fire Nation,” the man snarls, turning his head to the side. “The nation that you betrayed.”

He tries to spit in Zuko’s face, but Zuko shoves his head back down to the ground before he can.

“Who,” repeats Zuko, “sent you?”

“I just told you,” the man snaps. “Not many people trust you,  _ Prince  _ Zuko _. _ There are plenty of people back home who would much rather see Phoenix King Ozai on the throne than his weak coward of a son.”

_ Ozai. _

_ Father. _

The man might as well have just stabbed him.

Zuko’s knee digs hard into the man’s back as a cold chill runs down his spine. His lungs struggle to find the air that he’d been breathing so effortlessly before, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, what he’s supposed to say, but he knows that he’s supposed to say something, but then the door is blasted to the ground with a loud bang, and Katara, Sokka, Aang, and Toph are all standing there, Toph’s hands still raised from when she blasted the metal hinges off of the door.

There’s a long, awkward moment where Zuko and the man stare at Katara, Sokka, Aang, and Toph, no one speaking.

_ Ozai. _

_ Father. _

Zuko is suddenly very aware that the tear in his clothes has caused his robe to fall off of his shoulder, exposing his bare skin and the blood dripping from the huge gash the man’s sword had left. There’s blood on the floor, in his clothes. A lot of blood. More blood than should be entirely advisable.

_ Ozai. _

_ Father. _

The man tries to pull himself up, taking advantage of the stunned silence, but Zuko slams his fist into his head hard enough to know that he’ll be nursing bruises for days to come without a moment of hesitation. The man crumples.

_ Ozai. _

_ Father. _

Zuko fumbles for the man’s neck, checking to see that he didn’t accidentally kill him, and is relieved to find a pulse. He quickly gets up off of him, then stumbles slightly from lightheadedness, grabbing the edge of his desk for support as he winces, clutching his head. His friends are staring at him with wide eyes, none of them seeming to know what to do.

_ Ozai. _

_ Father. _

“Um,” says Zuko, lifting his head, and his voice is so impossibly steady, so normal, that he might as well be talking about the weather, “I think I almost got assassinated for the first time?”

Sokka lets out something that might be a squeak.

_ Ozai. _

_ Father. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Assassination attempt. Comes with descriptions of violence and blood. Zuko gets a fairly bad wound in his shoulder.
> 
> Yes, I'm keeping the New Ozai Society in this fic. Since I'm not doing Smoke & Shadow, it's obviously not going to be the same, but the existence of an Ozai loyalist society is both entirely plausible and to be expected. And it's fun! So!
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading :D
> 
> come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	10. ba sing se (4): conversations (near death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the assassination attempt. Zuko talks with Iroh and with Sokka. He has something of an epiphany.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very chill chapter, all things considered. It took me a really long time to get it where I wanted it to be, but it still isn't exactly how I hoped it would end up. I originally intended for Zuko and Aang to have a conversation, but Sokka just kind of... inserted himself? The conversation with Aang should hopefully be in the next chapter, but it might end up having to be later.
> 
> A lot of things are finally cleared up here, especially in the conversation with Iroh. This chapter isn't very plot heavy mostly because the next chapter is the last one in the Ba Sing Se arc, and I'm trying to tie up some ends before moving on completely. I'm really excited to get started on the next few chapters!
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoy <3

“--told you. Suki and Ty Lee. He was very firm about that before he passed out.”

“Collapsed, you mean. ‘Passed out’ makes it sound like he just fell asleep.”

“My point still stands. He might’ve been delirious from blood loss, and he might’ve collapsed seconds after saying it, but he was right.”

“Okay, first of all, he passed out from exhaustion, not blood loss. Second, Ty Lee--”

“Katara. There was someone in the Fire Lord’s quarters on the most heavily guarded ship that I’ve ever seen. Zuko was right. Someone on board must’ve helped the assassin get in. We don’t know who to trust.”

“You trust Ty Lee?”

“No, but Zuko does. And so does Suki. I don’t think that Ty Lee is going to be part of an assassination plot to kill one of her childhood friends.”

\---

“How could someone try to kill him? Why would someone--”

“Twinkletoes, I’m with you, but you’re going to be late to negotiations. Can we have this conversation when the state of the world is not in danger? Get your pacifist ass out of here.”

“He’s just a teenager, but someone tried to--”

“It was a given that it would happen eventually, Aang. I know that it’s disturbing to think about, but there are a lot of people in the Fire Nation who aren’t happy with Zuko’s decisions. That doesn’t make it better, obviously, but--”

“How can you be so calm about this, Sokka? All of you? Zuko almost died--”

“ _Aang._ Please. We’re not calm about this. We’re just… trying to be. Panic isn’t going to help this at all. I’m angry, too, but we can’t afford to be right now. Zuko is fine, and he’s going to be fine, but right now, we need to find a Fire Nation representative to take his place in negotiations today and potentially tomorrow.”

“And who the hell is going to do that, Fan-girl?”

“‘Fan-girl?’”

“Sorry. I’m trying out nicknames for you. It was either that or Sunny.”

“Sunny…?”

“Because Sokka’s first girlfriend was the moon, so since you’re the second girlfriend--”

_“Toph!”_

\---

“Everyone - the crew and his personal guard, I mean - is on the ship. They’re not leaving until they get further instruction from Zuko. I think one of his guards has the assassin restrained in one of the rooms.”

“We ought to tell someone what happened. _Someone_ should know, someone who actually knows how to handle this.”

“Zuko made it pretty clear that he didn’t want anyone else to know, though. And who would know how to handle the aftermath of an assassination attempt?”

“The same person who’s going to step in for Zuko as the Fire Nation representative.”

“Who’s that going to be? We can’t exactly let a member of Zuko’s crew or personal guard step in.”

“...Are you craving tea, by any chance?”

\---

When Zuko opens his eyes, Uncle is sitting on the chair beside his bed.

When Zuko was healing from his father’s touch, a fresh burn across his face and the smell of medicine and rotting lingering in his room on the ship, Uncle was always sitting in the chair beside his bed. Constantly. He would open his eyes after a nightmare, and Uncle would be there, squeezing his hand and telling him that he was okay. He would push away his food, and Uncle would be there to help him force it down. He would cry, silently, sometimes, but Uncle always heard because he was always there.

So this is familiar. It seems oddly fitting that Uncle would be beside him after an assassination attempt.

“Zuko?” he hears Uncle ask as his eyes drift shut again. There’s a rustling sound followed by the gentle click of ceramic on wood. “Zuko, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says. His eyes flutter back open to meet Uncle’s worried gaze that breaks into relief as they make eye contact. “You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

“But your shop--”

“My shop can wait, Zuko,” says Uncle with a smile. “You really thought that I would stay behind to make tea while my nephew is recovering from an assassination attempt?”

His smile falters at his words, and Zuko doesn’t miss it.

Zuko touches his shoulder. It comes away clean, and there’s no longer any pain there, suggesting that Katara healed it. Someone seems to have changed him out of his bloodied robes while he was out as well, which is a slightly disturbing thought.

"What…” Zuko rubs his eyes. “What time is it?”

His eyes scan his surroundings. He’s in the room he would’ve stayed in had his conversation with Chief Arnook never happened. He would’ve been in this house with his friends, and though he’d been disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to at first, given the events of last night, he now thinks that it was probably a good thing.

"It’s the evening,” Uncle says, and Zuko is instantly alert. Because there’s no way that only a few hours have passed, not if his dry mouth and stiff limbs are anything to go by.

"I’ve been out for a full day?” Zuko asks hoarsely, feeling his eyes widen and his mouth drop open as horror floods his veins. “Are you serious?”

"Yes, my nephew.”

"What-- what about the negotiations? I have to--”

Uncle is holding a steaming cup of tea, but he sets it down to pour a second cup from the teapot sitting on the table beside Zuko’s head. He offers it to Zuko, silencing him, and helps him sit up against the pillows.

"I handled it,” he says, and there’s something odd in his tone that gives Zuko pause. Zuko opens his mouth, but Uncle shakes his head. “Do not worry, Zuko. I know that you have been reluctant to share political information with me, but do not forget that I was the Crown Prince at one point. I may not want a place in politics anymore, but that does not mean that I cannot step in for my nephew when he needs it.”

There it is again. That strange note in his tone.

Zuko looks at his uncle carefully. He’s dressed in Fire Nation colors, red and gold robes lined with black, and he looks more like a Fire Lord than Zuko ever has (ever will). But there’s a weariness in his expression, a sad look in his eyes and a firm resolve in the lines of his face, that Zuko can’t miss. He knows that look. He knows it well.

"What is it?” Zuko asks. “You’re here to tell me something, aren’t you?”

"I am,” says Uncle, and Zuko had been half expecting him to deny it, so his eyebrows raise on their own accord. “I am, Zuko. I do not know if you are in the right state of being to be having this conversation, but it is very important that I let you know.”

Zuko frowns. “I just slept for a full day,” he says. “I’m in the best state of being I’ve been in for months.”

Which is true. He feels relaxed, well-rested, if not a little anxious, but he has a feeling that that has more to do with the conversation he can feel approaching.

"And you almost got assassinated,” Uncle says, heaving a sigh.

"But I didn’t die.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Uncle’s eyes harden and his head shoots up.

"Does it have to do with politics?” Zuko asks hurriedly, changing the subject. “I should be up to date on whatever happened during negotiations today. Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Uncle closes his eyes. His knuckles are white from the force of his grip on the cup.

"Zuko,” he says quietly. “May I be blunt with you?”

"Of course.”

There’s a pause as Uncle adjusts his position on his seat. He looks as though he has aged ten years in these few minutes that they’ve been talking.

"I do not wish to worry you,” he begins cautiously, “especially given the current circumstances. I was very worried about you, Zuko, and I still am. The last thing that I want is to put more worries on you. I do not want to delay this conversation any more than I have to, however, given the sensitivity and importance of the matter.”

"I’m fine, Uncle,” Zuko says. “What is it?”

Another pause.

"I stepped in as your replacement today for meetings,” Uncle says slowly, carefully, “and I went through all of your notes. You take very detailed notes, by the way, nephew. Much better than I ever did. You are much more attentive than I was at your age.”

Uncle chuckles slightly. Zuko just waits.

"I greatly admire your determination to allow for justice to be wrought,” says Uncle, serious once more, and he sets his cup down on the bedside table. “However… Zuko, have you taken into consideration the Fire Nation’s economy during negotiations?”

"The economy?” repeats Zuko. “I… I suppose I haven’t. Not really.”

"The Fire Nation’s economy relied almost exclusively on the war,” says Uncle. “Without the war, there will be thousands of jobs lost, hundreds of factories closed. People will be out of work. An economic depression of some sort is unavoidable. I will be very honest with you, nephew. You will bankrupt your country with the reparations you are agreeing to.”

Shit.

_Shit._

"Oh,” says Zuko quietly, because there’s really nothing else to say to a comment like that, but he regrets it instantly for how much it makes him sound like an uncertain kid. Which he is, but he can’t afford to be.

"Oh,” Uncle echoes gravely. He seems to be waiting for Zuko to say something.

"I didn’t…” Zuko takes a deep breath. His lungs feel too small, tight within his ribcage, and he finds himself falling into the meditative breathing patterns Uncle taught him out of habit. “I should’ve considered that. I screwed up.”

"You did,” Uncle says. “But it was not your intention to harm anyone - quite the opposite, in fact. But you will not be able to pay reparations if you do not help your own nation. You will end up hurting everyone involved, if that becomes the case, with both empty promises and an empty treasury. Your desire to help and to make up for what has been done is overtaking your logic, your reasoning, Zuko.”

"Is that such a bad thing?” Zuko finds himself asking, an edge to his tone despite himself, because even though he knows that he fucked up to a potentially irreversible extent, even though panic and terror race through him, defensiveness is an old habit. “Wanting to help? We have so much to make up for, so much to--”

"Not at the expense of your country,” says Uncle gently, and Zuko immediately falls silent. “You cannot possibly hold yourself accountable for every single problem in the world at once. It is impossible to fix everything in a single week, especially when you have your own nation to think about.”

The silence lingers as Uncle sighs, taking another sip from his tea. Zuko sits there, clutching the cup in his hands as though it is his anchor to reality.

"I do not mean to alarm you,” Uncle says, and he’s still speaking so softly, so gently, and Zuko almost wants him to yell, because if he’s right (and he’s definitely right), Zuko has made the biggest fuck-up of his life, and he shouldn’t be spoken to like _this_ ; he should be yelled at, screamed at, shouted at, “especially after the events of last night. But this is an extremely important matter, Zuko.”

"I know,” rasps Zuko. “I--”

He closes his eyes. A warm hand slips into his, and he catches himself starting to cling to it desperately. He quickly pulls away.

_Why isn’t he angry?_

"I’ve already discussed the matter with the Southern Water Tribe,” Uncle says, speaking as though Zuko had never pulled away, as though he hadn’t almost destroyed the Fire Nation’s economy in one fell swoop. “They agreed to less reparations as long as the Fire Nation takes a significantly greater role in the reconstruction projects they are to organize. Such projects will likely not happen for a few more years.”

Chief Hakoda’s doing. There’s no way that anyone else would be that generous. Zuko feels that horrible stab of guilt in his stomach again.

"You’ll need to arrange something with the Earth Kingdom and the Northern Water Tribe,” continues Uncle, “but I have faith that you will be able to negotiate your way into a more reasonable price to pay.”

Zuko scoffs despite himself. “Right,” he says. “Because I can be trusted to do that after all of this.”

"Zuko--”

"Why aren’t you angry?” Zuko interrupts. He glares at Uncle. “You should be furious with me! _I’m_ furious with myself! I can’t believe I was so stupid to not even-- to let everything get to this point--”

"You’re not stupid,” says Uncle. “You are wrapped up with guilt, and now you have the power to fix the mistakes of your nation. It is not stupidity, nephew, it is _normal._ ”

Zuko laughs, short and clipped and humorless. “Right,” he says in a venomous tone. “Because that’s exactly how all of the representatives are going to see it. And that’s exactly how everyone back home is going to see it. They’re not going to see an incompetent _kid_ on the throne. Definitely not.”

Uncle’s eyebrows knit together slightly. Zuko’s lips tighten, and he folds his arms across his chest, letting his back thud firmly against the wall.

 _Agni_ , it’s familiar, too familiar. He feels too much like that thirteen year old kid, freshly burned and freshly banished with bandages over his face and his throat still raw from screaming, and nothing like himself. Nothing like the Avatar’s firebending instructor, nothing like the Earth Kingdom refugee, nothing like the Fire Lord, nothing like _Zuko._

After all of this time, after everything that has happened and everything that he has done, he just feels like a banished prince again.

"Zuko,” says Uncle quietly, softly, gently, just as he’s been speaking this entire time, and Zuko _doesn’t deserve this_ , he doesn’t deserve and never has deserved this unconditional kindness and warmth that Uncle has shown him, “you can talk to me. I’m still here, my nephew.”

Zuko swallows, hard, not looking at his uncle.

He can’t. He doesn’t know why, but his chest is tightening all over again, and his throat feels like someone is squeezing it, and there’s something burning in his lungs that demands to be let out, to be shouted, _screamed--_

But he doesn’t yell.

Instead, something… _cracks._ A little splinter in a white porcelain cup.

"Why did you leave?” Zuko whispers, and his voice breaks slightly. He clears his throat, still not looking at Uncle. “You-- you just-- you _left._ You left me alone. I didn’t-- I didn’t know how to do _anything_ , Uncle. I had no one there to support me, and I was-- I’d just fought a fucking war, had just come back from exile, and I didn’t know anything about anything, and you-- you just _left_ , you left me on the throne alone, and I know you-- I know that you didn’t want to have a part in politics anymore, but--”

Zuko stops talking.

He refuses to cry. He’s choking on his own breath, struggling to get the words out around tears threatening to spring forth from his eyes, and he can’t stand how raw, how vulnerable, how _weak_ he sounds.

So he just… stops talking. Closes off.

It’s better than the anger, the emotion. It reminds him of Azula when she wasn’t screaming, wasn’t laughing, and it’s better than the emotional outbursts he’d have on the deck of his ship when he was banished. It’s cold, and it’s numbing, and it’s better.

But Uncle is looking at him like he has just torn his heart out of his chest.

“Zuko,” Uncle says softly, so tenderly that Zuko wants to punch something or set something on fire or cry, but he doesn’t do any of those things, just sits and stares at a spot somewhere to the left of Uncle. “I did not want to leave you. I did not mean for you to feel abandoned.”

“I didn’t feel abandoned,” snaps Zuko (a lie; he has always been such a bad liar). “I’m not weak. I just-- I just. I just wonder why you didn’t take the throne instead of me. You were going to take Azulon’s place, you were trained for the role, but I knew - _know_ \- almost nothing. I spent just as much time as the Crown Prince as I did as a banished prince. I’m… I’m not--”

“What is it?” asks Uncle.

And something in Zuko, something that has been straining and tensing and hurting since his coronation, finally, finally snaps.

“I’m not fit for this!” he shouts, and there is desperation in his tone, desperation that strains against his throat and burns in his eyes. “I don’t-- I’m not-- I can’t _do_ this, the politics, the-- the legislation, the ministers, the negotiations, _any_ of it! I don’t know anything about the economy, about diplomacy, about-- I’m-- I’m sixteen, Uncle, I’m hardly even seventeen years old yet; I’m still _growing,_ for Agni’s sake! I can’t run a fucking _nation!_ I haven’t even been held accountable for all of my own mistakes; how am I supposed to handle the mistakes of an entire nation? I don’t-- I don’t--”

Zuko drops his head. “I don’t know _how_ ,” he whispers. “I still don’t even know who I am. I thought that I did, and I think I did for a little while, but now I just feel more lost and confused than ever.”

The silence that follows is horrible. Zuko refuses to look up, refuses to meet his Uncle’s eyes and see the disappointment, the disgust, that he knows will be there.

He shouldn’t have spoken. He should know better by now, should know how to watch his tongue and mind himself, mind his temper, but he’s let it all get the better of him, and he still hasn’t learned his lesson after all of this time, and now he’s going to lose the one person who has always been by his side, the one person who--

Uncle is hugging him.

Zuko freezes, his entire body going rigid, but Uncle doesn’t let go. His grip is firm, warm, strong, encompassing, and he smells like tea and flowers and something distinctly Uncle, and it’s impossible not to melt into his grasp. Zuko’s fists unclench, his shoulders untense, and he leans forward, closer to Uncle, and Uncle holds him tighter.

"I’m sorry,” Uncle whispers, and his voice is trembling dangerously. “Zuko, my nephew, I am so sorry.”

"Why are you sorry?” Zuko asks, and he means for it to come out scathing and harsh, but it ends up shaking slightly on its way out in his confusion. “This is something I should’ve-- I _should_ be able to do. I can’t be this--”

"No,” Uncle says, cutting over him. “No, Zuko. This is not a burden that you should have ever carried. You are right. You are too young to be worrying about things like this. You never received proper training, and the training that you did receive was so long ago and much too little to be any real use. The fact that you have made it this far and made so many successes despite all of that is incredible.”

He releases Zuko, but his hands slip over his shoulders. Zuko’s eyes burn, but no tears emerge. He doesn’t let them.

"I’ll help you while you are still here in Ba Sing Se,” says Uncle, “and I will help you when you are back in the palace. I’m here, Zuko. I may have abandoned the throne, and I may be in the Earth Kingdom now, but I have not left you. I thought I made this clear that night when you asked me to be regent, but I suppose I did not. I’m still here, and I will never leave you. I will not abandon you, my nephew.”

Zuko shakes his head violently. “No, I’m-- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put all of this on you. I know that you didn’t want a place in politics anymore, and I--”

"That does not mean that I do not want to help you,” Uncle says, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Zuko, look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly. Gold meets gold.

"I am here for you,” says Uncle firmly. “I’m here. And I will not be going away. If you need help, you should reach out. We’ll work through the reparations and the aftermath of the assassination attempt together. Okay?”

"Okay,” says Zuko in a small sort of voice. He clears his throat, trying again. “Okay.”

"Okay,” repeats Uncle.

"I should’ve brought my ministers with me, shouldn’t I?”

Uncle laughs, choked and muffled. “Perhaps,” he says. “But I don’t blame you for leaving them behind. Now, could you fill me in on everything that you’ve been withholding from me? I do hope that you haven’t accidentally jump-started another path to an economic depression.”

"Everything?”

"Everything.”

So he does.

He starts with the feelings of betrayal after Uncle left the palace for Ba Sing Se, describing the mixture of grief and anger with himself at that feeling, how he bottled it up deep inside until he was forced to face it at the Jasmine Dragon. He talks about how he stopped sleeping, stopped eating, focusing exclusively on his work and his work alone, until his friends and Mai were able to start to pull him out of it. He talks about the thinly veiled disgust and wariness shown to him at negotiations by foreign leaders, by his own ministers, about the blatant disrespect that they have for the child on the throne, for the new leader of the Fire Nation, about the behavior of his guards and how Ozai never would’ve been treated in the ways that he’s being treated, how he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

He talks about Azula. He doesn’t tell Uncle about all of the emotions he has surrounding her because it’s too much, too painful, and a conversation that he wants to have with Azula first, but he tells him about the prison and the institution. He doesn’t mention that he visited Ozai all of those weeks ago, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Uncle already knew.

By the time he gets to the assassination attempt, there’s a space in his chest that feels a little emptier, and it’s strange, but it feels better. He talks about how the man in his quarters spat _Prince Zuko_ and _Phoenix King Ozai_ at him, and Uncle’s entire body goes stiff, his eyes narrowing and jaw tensing until he looks more like the Dragon of the West and less like a kindly tea shop owner.

"I had been expecting this,” Uncle says in a low voice. “Groups loyal to Ozai, that is. It is only expected that there will be people loyal to my brother, stuck on the idea of the superiority of fire and how the war will bring glory to the rest of the world. There might be a few who will try to use the news of potential bankruptcy of the Fire Nation against you. Your friendship with the Avatar may call your authority into question as well. Unfortunately, nephew, I do not think that this attempt will be the last.”

"I didn’t expect it to be,” says Zuko. “But I’ll be ready next time.”

When he’s done speaking, the sky is much darker and his eyes much heavier. His throat feels strained, and he takes hasty sips from his now-cold tea. But he feels better. He feels lighter.

"Thank you for talking to me,” Uncle tells him as he pulls him into a hug. “I want to be here for you, nephew. Reaching out for help when you need it is not a shameful thing. You do not have to be alone.”

"Thank you,” says Zuko. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner. It was just…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He tightens his grip on Uncle instead, ignoring the burning in his eyes. Uncle seems to get it. He usually does.

"I’ve got to get to a meeting,” whispers Uncle. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Zuko nods.

"Your friends are bringing dinner soon,” he continues. “I’ll be back as soon as my meeting ends.”

"You don’t have to--”

"I want to.”

Zuko doesn’t cry, but he’s damn well close to it.

\---

It turns out that everyone else has already eaten dinner, but Aang comes in carrying a bag with Zuko’s food in it. He drops the bag and tackles Zuko in a tearful hug the moment that he sees him, and Zuko bewilderedly reminds him that he was in no danger of dying after Katara healed him. Toph, using that voice she uses when she’s scared but doesn’t want anyone to know, says that he dropped like a dead weight on his way back to the house so he should maybe shut up; Sokka adds that he literally almost got assassinated so he should maybe shut up, and Zuko starts eating in the hopes that everyone would maybe shut up.

They do. But not before they extract an agreement from him.

"You know that I’m not letting you go back to your ship, right?” Katara asks, narrowing her eyes as Zuko grabs a pair of chopsticks. “Just because the wound is gone doesn’t mean that you’re fully healed. You should stay with us at the house.”

“Katara--”

“Yes!” Toph pumps her fist. “I knew something good had to come out of this!”

“It was an assassination attempt, Toph,” Sokka says.

“So? He’s alive.”

Zuko snorts. Katara looks scandalized, Aang horrified, and Sokka like he’s torn between trying not to laugh and whacking Toph with his boomerang.

He whacks Toph with his boomerang.

“Ow!” complains Toph, rubbing her head. She punches the air, sending a rock flying into Sokka’s gut, and he lets out an _oof_ as it makes impact, falling onto his back.

“You can’t stay on your ship, Zuko,” Katara says, ignoring Sokka and Toph completely as Sokka starts shouting over Toph’s cackling. “You don’t know who to trust yet. You’re not safe there.”

“There’s also the matter that it’s generally just not safe for you to stay in the room that you almost died in,” says Sokka, glancing away from his argument with Toph. Toph takes the opportunity to shoot another rock in his direction, and he goes right back to yelling at her while she laughs.

“Are you sure?” asks Zuko uncertainly. “I’d feel weird about going back on what I said to Chief Arnook.”

“Dude.” Sokka grabs Toph, picks her up, and forcibly removes her out of his way as he walks over to Zuko. He plants his hands on his knees and leans forward, staring at Zuko. “You almost got assassinated. What’s he going to say? _No?”_

“He could,” mumbles Zuko, but then he catches Aang’s eye, who’s staring at him with a mixture of horror and sadness, and he immediately shuts up.

Right. This is the kid who couldn’t kill Ozai. The kid who cried when he stepped on a beetle at the Western Air Temple.

His friends take his silence as a grudging agreement that he’ll stay. Zuko doesn’t have the heart to tell them that it wasn’t, so he just eats his food and hopes that everyone goes away and stops worrying about him.

It works. Suki comes into the house and falls asleep in Sokka’s room the moment that she and Ty Lee are officially let off of their shift, Toph goes upstairs to bed and threatens anyone who disturbs her with certain death, and Aang and Katara go up to one of their rooms to finish up some work.

Leaving Sokka at the table with Zuko.

"You can go to bed,” says Zuko, eyeing Sokka for a moment as he sits down across from him. “I don’t want to keep you up if you’re tired.”

"You’re not going to eat if I leave,” Sokka says. “I’m here to make sure that you do. And I’m not tired,” he adds quickly, when Zuko opens his mouth. “I’m too restless to do anything but stay awake right now. Not after…”

He stops, but the point is clear enough.

Zuko keeps eating his food. Sokka leans back in his chair.

The silence that falls isn’t uncomfortable, necessarily, but they’re both definitely aware of it. They haven’t been alone like this since before the Comet, when Zuko went into Sokka’s tent to ask about his mother. They’ve sparred on and off, but that was all before the Comet, and they almost always had an audience.

They had to have been alone together after that, right? Boiling Rock and a conversation about a dead mother cannot be the only times they’ve been truly alone together.

Right?

"So,” says Zuko. “Uh… What have you been up to lately?”

Sokka shrugs. “Oh, you know. Politics.”

"Yeah. Me too.”

"Yeah. Fire Lord.”

"Yeah.”

Spirits, this is awkward. It’s just like that conversation on the war balloon to Boiling Rock all over again.

“I talked to Uncle,” says Zuko. He’s not quite sure what compels him to say it, but then Sokka tilts his head slightly, and he keeps talking. “He stopped by earlier. Apparently I’m bankrupting the Fire Nation.”

"I heard Dad talking about that with Iroh. That sucks.”

"Yeah. I finally talked to Uncle about everything that’s been happening, though, which was nice.”

"You hadn’t before?”

"No. I was internalizing everything. I should’ve talked to him sooner.”

"Yeah. At least you talked, though.”

"Mm.”

Another silence.

"The Northern Water Tribe wants to make my position as an ambassador permanent,” Sokka blurts out suddenly, and Zuko looks up just as Sokka’s gaze flicks to him.

"That’s great,” says Zuko. “Are you going to do it?”

"No,” says Sokka. His eyes drift somewhere to the left of Zuko, his lips parting slightly as he sighs. “No, I don’t think I am. I know it’s a great opportunity and everything, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I don’t think it’s right for me.”

"That’s fine,” Zuko says. “It’s good that you know what you want.”

Sokka laughs. “That’s the thing,” he says. “I don’t know what I want. I know what I _don’t_ want, but even that took me ages to figure out. I _should_ want to be in the Northern Water Tribe, but it’s just-- it reminds me too much of the person I used to be. And it reminds me of Yue. Which isn’t a bad thing! Like, at all! But it’s just…”

"A lot,” says Zuko, remembering his conversation with Uncle, and Sokka smiles at him.

"Yeah,” he says. “It’s just a lot.”

"Then what have you been thinking about doing?” asks Zuko. He’s finished eating, so he sets his chopsticks down on the table with a soft click. “Are you going to go back to the Southern Water Tribe? You’re in line to be chief, right?”

"Technically, yeah,” says Sokka. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I always thought that I’d want to be chief one day. I was really excited to go home after the war for that reason, so I could start learning properly and preparing to take Dad’s place, but… I don’t know. It didn’t feel _right._ I kept feeling like I needed to do something more, but I didn’t know what I needed to be doing. So I went to the Northern Water Tribe to see if I needed a change of scenery or something, but the feeling just got worse.”

"I had no idea there would be this much work after the war,” Zuko says. He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, so short that it’s almost a scoff. “I somehow thought that everything would be okay once we won. I guess I was naive in that way. But it’s… There’s so much more work.”

"It’s only the beginning,” agrees Sokka. “And I don’t even know where the end is, if there even is one.”

Another silence falls over the two of them, but this time, it’s more contemplative than anything else, both boys lost in thought.

"You know,” says Sokka quietly, so quietly that Zuko almost thinks that he imagines it, “sometimes, I miss how things used to be. Not the war, obviously, but the adventures. And… how we were all together, all the time. We knew what we were working towards, and we had a-- a _goal_ that we had to accomplish, but now? Now it’s all…”

“Vague,” finishes Zuko. “Uncertain. Unstable. I know what you mean.”

Zuko sighs, resting his chin on his knees as he brings his legs up to his chest. “I don’t miss many things about the years I spent on that ship after my banishment,” he says. “I don’t miss my fear of fire. I don’t miss the anger that I used to hide everything else away. I don’t miss my obsession with my honor, with the Avatar, with Fa-- with Ozai’s approval, and I definitely don’t miss my crew, but…”

Zuko hesitates, momentarily overwhelmed with himself. He has a feeling that he wouldn’t be like this if he hadn’t almost died last night.

Today seems to be a day of vulnerability and honesty. Zuko doesn’t know if he’s ever allowed himself to talk about things like this in such a raw, open way. He’s always been too scared of being perceived as weak, of _becoming_ weak. But Sokka isn’t even judging him - he’s _understanding._

“But?” prompts Sokka.

“I miss knowing exactly what I needed to do,” Zuko says softly, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his chest with the words, a weight so heavy that he feels almost empty without them there, and combined with the aftermath of his conversation with Uncle, he feels like he could start flying without all of these thoughts he’s kept to himself weighing him down. “I miss the absolute security I had in knowing that if I achieved this one thing, if I just captured the Avatar, everything would be okay. It wouldn’t be, obviously, but I didn’t know that back then.”

Sokka hesitates. He seems to be teetering on an edge, a question on the tip of his tongue, and Zuko thinks he knows exactly what the question is. He braces himself.

"How did you…” Sokka trails off. He blinks, shakes his head quickly, and a forced smile comes over his face. “How did you know exactly how I was feeling? Obviously not the same thing, but--”

"That’s not the question you were going to ask,” says Zuko, raising an eyebrow.

Sokka’s smile fades. “Yeah. It wasn’t. But I don’t want-- I don’t want to push you or anything. You shouldn’t feel pressured to tell me about what happened to you. Not until you’re ready.”

There’s a brief pause as Zuko thinks. He looks at his hands, at the calluses on his palms and the dried blood that hadn’t washed out from last night.

Then he sighs.

"I don’t know if I’ll ever be ‘ready,’” he admits, speaking slowly, deliberately. He looks down at his hands again, clasped on top of the table. “But… I want you all to know eventually. Just not now. Not after I almost got assassinated. It’s a scar that I’d rather not touch right now. Uh-- pun not intended.”

Sokka laughs, and it sounds real. “Understood, Your Majesty,” he says in a flamboyantly majestic voice. Zuko scowls, and Sokka laughs harder.

"But in all seriousness,” says Zuko, and Sokka falls silent. “My problems aside, if you’re ever… confused or feeling lost, you always have a place in the palace. I can always use a representative from the Southern Water Tribe to keep me right.”

Sokka smiles. “I might just take you up on that.”

Their conversation falls into lighter topics after that. Sokka talks about how he almost drowned during a storm while trying to catch fish, and Zuko finally gets the answer to why they needed to suck on frozen frogs. Sokka tells him about how he fell into the water when he tried to ask Yue out, and Zuko responds with both encounters that he’s had with fountains with Mai. Zuko complains about the boomerang that whacked him in the head on their first encounter, and Sokka counters it by reminding him that he literally threatened his grandmother, which puts a bit of a damper on the mood for a few seconds, but it’s gone faster than it came.

It’s been awhile since he’s been able to sit down and have a casual conversation with a friend like this, but Sokka seems to bring out a side of him that he didn’t even know still existed. A side that he was forced to grow out of as a child, forced to hide as an exile, and forced to ignore now.

And Zuko realizes something, watching Sokka throw his head back and laugh: _he is not weak_. Sokka is being open in front of him, and Zuko had just been open in front of him, but neither of them are any weaker for it. In fact, Zuko feels better. Lighter. Unburdened. Strengthened, even.

All of his life, Zuko has lived thinking that asking for help and opening up to others was a sign of weakness, a sign of cowardice. But how could it be when he left his conversation with Uncle feeling like he could fly for how light he was, when he’s laughing with Sokka like nothing else matters? Besides, Ozai was the one to ingrain that idea into him, the one to shout it at him when he cried and mock his failures when he stumbled.

He doesn't owe the story of his scar to anyone, but he’s surrounded with people that he trusts now. People who can help. People who can make him feel _better_ when he talks to them. People like Uncle and Sokka. People who care.

Zuko isn't going to fully understand or accept this overnight. He knows that. The fact that it took him an assassination attempt to even realize this fact is proof enough of that.

The stars are bright, though, and the air is fresh enough even inside of the house, and he has plenty of time to figure everything out.

And when it comes time, he’ll figure it out with Azula, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending feels a little stilted to me, but hopefully it got across the point I was trying to make. The next chapter will be the final chapter in the Ba Sing Se arc, and then we're back to the palace and back to Azula!
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! I hope you enjoyed :D
> 
> Come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	11. ba sing se (5): the promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gaang gets mildly drunk and talks about the future. Zuko and Aang have a heart-to-heart. The Ba Sing Se negotiations are over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW at the bottom !!!
> 
> This is it! The last chapter of the Ba Sing Se arc and then we're back to the palace! This entire arc was such a wild experience for me. I've never written politics to this extent before, and even if I definitely could've done better on a lot of things, I'm really proud of myself for taking the plunge and doing it, especially with a topic like imperialism. The amount of planning I did for this arc was absolutely insane, but it was completely worth it. 
> 
> There will obviously still be politics in future arcs, but I'll be focusing much more on character relationships and emotions. This chapter was an easier one to write, especially compared to the previous one. The conversation with Aang and Zuko made me tear up tbh. I'm by no means a crier, but I just... well. You'll see, I guess. If I make you feel something, I've succeeded as a writer and I can die happy LMAO
> 
> With that being said... please enjoy the final chapter in the Ba Sing Se arc <3 I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> (ps the chapter title will make sense when you read lmao dw aang is not going to promise to kill zuko)
> 
> CW: References to past suicidal thoughts. They're not explicit, but they're definitely there and stated very clearly. There's also generally just discussion of death and genocide.

The remaining days in Ba Sing Se after the assassination attempt are simultaneously the most eventful and the dullest days that Zuko has ever experienced.

The matter of reparations is solved surprisingly cleanly thanks to Uncle’s kind words and cheerful disposition. Zuko manages to get away with paying amounts that will not empty the Fire Nation treasury or send it into certain economic crisis, because even though the rest of the world would love to see the Fire Nation suffer, people also recognize that more destruction is not the path that they need to follow. Most people do, at least - enough that the Fire Nation will not be going bankrupt for now.

That doesn’t mean that everyone is very happy, though. It’s a clean fix, but not a happy one, and Zuko knows that his authority has been somewhat undermined. Once word gets to the Fire Nation about his mistake, he knows that he’ll be facing plenty of backlash. But, as Uncle reminds him, he has plenty of time to recover from his mistake and plenty more time to prove himself.

Hopefully.

The colonies are a different story. Zuko’s momentary relief with Ty Lee’s solution to the problem evaporates when Chief Hakoda points out that although the Southern Water Tribe was able to succeed with voting, the kind of vote that Zuko is talking about would span across two nations. Even when Zuko suggests having the voting take place just in each colony the issue concerns, Chief Hakoda adds that such a task would be nearly impossible to pull off accurately, quickly, and without some form of corruption.

So they’re back to square one all over again. Earth King Kuei is very adamant that he take the colonies back from the Fire Nation. Zuko doesn’t think that the older colonies, being a diverse mixture of both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, will handle that very well.

There is not a fist fight, but there is a very tense, very aggressive one-on-one argument rife with personal insults and passive-aggressive remarks that lasts for seven hours and ends with smoke coming out of Zuko’s mouth and a grudging agreement to table the issue until the two leaders can meet in one of the older colonies to discuss it further. Shoving aside the problem was the last thing that either of them wanted given the sensitivity of the topic, but they simply do not have enough time to work out a solution.

It takes several cups of tea and more than a few rants about Earth King Kuei’s competency as a leader to his friends and to Uncle before Zuko calms down after that meeting.

He goes back to his ship to interrogate the crew and handle the assassin, but it turns out that no one ends up needing to deal with the man. He died hours after Zuko left, apparently, from trauma to the head. The force of the blow must’ve been harder than Zuko intended. The realization leaves him a little sick to his stomach, but he gives the captain a terse nod and very deliberately avoids looking at anyone in the eyes.

He’s killed before. It would be naive to assume that he hasn’t with all of the fire and the throwing-people-around he used to do. But this time feels different, even if it was self defense.

They don’t find anyone suspicious in the crew, even with Toph there to check the truth of their words. That in itself is suspicious, but he can’t very well ditch the entire crew in Ba Sing Se.

“They’re either all Azula or they’re all telling the truth,” Toph huffs as they leave the ship. “I don’t know which one is more concerning, honestly.”

The final day of negotiations involves nearly no work at all, a welcome reprieve for Zuko after back to back meetings for the whole week. It is most ceremonial, with everyone adding their signatures to the freshly written peace treaty, but the amount of attention on Zuko as he walks to the table with the document on it to add his name to the bottom of the paper makes him want to die a little. He’s never going to get used to this.

But after the signing, it’s all over. _It’s all over._ Zuko doesn’t have to be belittled by foreign figures anymore. He can be belittled by his own ministers instead, and at least he’ll actually be able to fire them and snap at them if he wants to. The amount of self control and restraint that Zuko has shown over this past week is enough to last him for a lifetime.

He could go straight back to the Fire Nation, and he misses Mai so much that he seriously considers it, but then he sees his friends waiting for him by the door, and Zuko knows, instantly, that he’ll be staying one more night with them. One last, perfect night before they all go back to where they are needed, scattered all over the globe until the next political gathering brings them crashing back together like they were never apart in the first place.

Sokka’s idea of a last, perfect night involves underage drinking.

It turns out that Zuko is the only one who can even somewhat hold his alcohol, because he’s been drinking with sailors since he was thirteen years old. Not that he would ever tell Uncle that - he hid it back then, and he’ll hide it now. As it is, Sokka, Suki, and Zuko are the only ones who end up drinking. Katara doesn’t because she insists that _someone_ responsible should stay sober, and everyone agrees that twelve year olds drinking is where the line should be drawn. Toph isn’t happy about this in the slightest.

“You all are like my parents,” she complains loudly. “You think I’m delicate, don’t you?”

“I’ve seen you metalbend a door and take out an entire room of Fire Nation soldiers on a flying warship,” Sokka says, his words slightly slurred together. “You’re not delicate. You’re _twelve.”_

Toph glowers at him, making a grab for the bottle. Katara grabs her shoulders, holding her back.

“What happened with your parents, anyways?” asks Aang. “Were they mad?”

Toph’s expression, if possible, goes even stonier.

“No,” she says quietly. “I wish they had been. They just treated me like a helpless blind girl all over again. It was like I’d never even left in the first place, except there were even more guards and I wasn’t allowed outside. I ran off for Ba Sing Se the day before negotiations began. I didn’t know if I’d be an ambassador or not, but Zuko did it. I would’ve come even if he didn’t.”

The room goes quiet but for the sound of Toph smashing a rock into the floor and pulling it back up again. No one speaks for what feels like ages.

“I’m sorry,” says Katara softly.

“Don’t be,” snaps Toph. “I’m not going back there. I’m _never_ going back.”

“Toph, they’re your parents,” Katara says. “You should go back at some point. Don’t say that you won’t unless you’re completely certain.”

“Just because they’re her parents doesn’t mean that she has to keep a connection to them,” Zuko says. He wouldn’t have spoken under normal circumstances, but the alcohol is making him feel warmer and brighter and a little more confident than usual. “I mean, my mom is gone, and my dad is-- uh.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Maybe you’re not the best example,” Suki says.

“No, he’s the only one who gets it,” says Toph. She puts her hand into Zuko’s. “Zuko’s my best friend now.”

“What?” shrieks Sokka. “What about me?”

“Sorry,” Zuko says, not sorry at all.

“Sucks to suck, Snoozles,” Toph adds. She holds up her fist, and Zuko bumps it.

Sokka pouts, sitting back against Suki with his arms crossed. Suki gives him a smile that definitely isn’t a sober one, poking his cheeks with two fingers. “I thought you were better than this, Toph,” he says.

“We can bond over other things,” Toph says. “Parents are not one of those topics.”

“What are your plans for the future, then?” asks Katara. Her arm is around Aang, Momo wrapped around her shoulders. “If you’re not going back to Gaoling, what do you want to do?”

“Metalbending academy,” Toph says immediately. “I told you a bit about it on the first day. I’ve just got to figure out the formal stuff, and then I’m out of Gaoling for good.”

“So you’ll go back to your parents first?”

Toph shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. Aang said he’d let me fly around with him for a little bit while I figure things out. There’s no way that I’m going back home to my parents. Not when they’re still like this.”

“What about you, Katara?” Zuko asks. “Are the three of you going together?”

“I’m going back to the Southern Water Tribe,” Katara says, a soft smile on her face. “Traveling was nice, but I think it’s time for me to figure out what I really want out of life. I might help out with planning the reconstruction projects or visit Sokka up North--”

 _“Please_ do _,_ ” Sokka says. “I’m only going back up to the Northern Water Tribe because I left a bunch of my stuff there. I’m out as soon as I can afford to be.”

“Did you tell Chief Arnook that you don’t want to be an ambassador?” Suki asks.

“Yeah,” says Sokka. He takes a sip from the bottle, wincing as the alcohol goes down. “He said that he had a feeling I would say no. I don’t know what I’m going to do once I’m out of there, though. I’ve honestly never been into politics, but it’s a little unavoidable for the six of us at this point. I’ll stay until they can find a permanent replacement because I’m not a jerk, but… I don’t know what I’ll do after.”

“Come with me,” Aang suggests eagerly. “Once Toph is gone, I’ll be all alone. You can come with me while you figure things out.”

“I’ll think about that,” Sokka says. He drinks from the bottle, nodding in a very not-sober way. “That sounds nice.”

“What about you, Suki?” asks Katara. Suki takes the bottle from Sokka, taking a long swig before passing it over to Zuko. He takes a sip as well.

“The warriors and I are staying here,” Suki says. “Ba Sing Se is much too weak without the Dai Li and the rest of its defense forces. I miss Kyoshi Island, though,” she adds.

“Personally,” Zuko says, and he’s _definitely_ not sober, “I think the Earth King should just… deal with it. He shouldn’t rely on outside forces to do his work for him.”

“You’re still mad about the colonies,” says Katara, raising her eyebrows in an amused way. She glances at Aang, who looks like he’s suppressing a smile. Zuko thinks, vaguely, that they might be laughing at the alcohol’s influence on his demeanor. Oh well. At least they’re not scared of him anymore. Maybe if he’d gotten drunk at the Western Air Temple they would’ve trusted him sooner.

Zuko blinks a few times, clearing his head.

“Of course I am,” he says, deciding to ignore that last thought. “The man is incompetent.”

“He probably thinks that you’re incompetent,” Sokka says. “You know. Since you’re a kid on the throne and also Ozai’s kid.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but at least I _know_ I’m incompetent. And I’m learning. The Earth King is just…” He waves his hands around in the air. “Not great.”

“I like him,” says Aang. “He’s just been a little… confused?”

Zuko snorts. “He certainly seemed very sure of himself when he told me that the colonies were Earth Kingdom only,” he says. “Never mind the fact that Fire Nation citizens have been there for a hundred years.”

Suki frowns. “But it _is_ Earth Kingdom land,” she says. She makes grabby-hands for the bottle, and Zuko passes it back to her. “The Fire Nation should just leave, shouldn’t they?”

Zuko opens his mouth to respond, frowning, but Toph holds up a hand.

“What’s the rule, again?” she asks. “No politics? It’s the last night, people. You can handle yourselves for one last night.”

“Right,” Suki says.

“Sorry,” says Zuko. He glances at Suki, whose eyebrows are knitted together in vague frustration, then evaluates his own emotions beneath a drunken fog, and decides that Toph’s no-politics rule was probably a good idea.

“So you’ll be traveling the world on Appa?” he asks Aang in an effort to change the subject back to the original topic. “Is that your long-term plan?”

“I guess?” Aang shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought super far ahead yet. I know that I’m going to be checking on all parts of the world to do my Avatar peace-making thing, but I don’t know what comes after that, if anything. I’m going to go to all of the Air Temples eventually and lay everyone there to rest properly. Probably for the ceremony you suggested the other day,” he says to Zuko. “But… I don’t know.”

There’s something in his tone that gives Zuko pause.

A heavy silence falls over the group, and it’s clear that the serious note in Aang’s words did not go unnoticed. Zuko takes the bottle back from Suki and finishes it. He would have qualms about being the one to finish the bottle, but judging by the looks on Sokka and Suki’s faces, they shouldn’t be drinking anything more tonight.

“Well, no need to ask me what I’ll be doing,” Zuko says drily. “You all will know where to find me if you want to visit. I’ll be holed up in the palace for the rest of my life.”

That gets some laughter, and the lively conversation resumes. At some point, Sokka knocks a newly opened bottle over and promptly soaks both him and Suki completely in alcohol. They both run off to grab more towels and never come back (and Zuko can guess what they’re doing), and everyone else starts to break off from there.

Katara goes up to bed, and Aang goes to walk off somewhere, leaving Zuko to pull Toph away from the remaining bottle. He finally manages to get her into bed as well, and once her door is closed behind him, he drinks some water to clear his head.

He goes up to the roof once he feels marginally more sober.

He’s been wanting to do this since he got to Ba Sing Se. It used to be his favorite thing to do when he and Uncle were refugees. He could see everything from the rooftops, the glimmering lights of the city and the wall surrounding it, and he loved the feeling of control he had over himself when he could control nothing else. The thought that he could take just one step and it would all be over was… comforting. He liked knowing that he had the ability to do it, even if he wasn’t going to.

Tonight, he goes up to the roof for the view and the view alone.

To his surprise, as he scales the side of the house and pulls himself on top of the roof, he finds Aang sitting up there with Momo perched on his shoulder, orange robes washed with silver in the moonlight. He looks oddly serene, somewhat troubled.

Zuko had wanted to be alone, but that doesn’t seem to matter very much anymore.

“Hey,” says Zuko. He carefully crosses the tiled roof and sits down beside Aang. “It’s pretty late. Everyone else has gone to bed.”

“I’ll be down soon,” Aang says.

Zuko nods, but he doesn’t leave. He stays beside Aang, legs dangling off of the edge of the rooftop.

“I used to come up to rooftops a lot,” Zuko says into the quiet, and he feels Aang’s eyes flick over to him in surprise. “I was really into climbing as a kid. And as a refugee. I got good at it, too, because I did it so much. I used to do it for… different reasons, but I think I’ve finally circled back to the original reason I liked it.”

He hadn’t meant to say so much. Aang seems to have caught the implication, the words that he hadn’t said.

“Zuko,” he says, and he says it quietly, but there’s something like panic in there as well. “I wasn’t-- That’s not why I’m up here. I would _never,_ Zuko, I--”

“I know,” Zuko says quickly. “I know you wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to imply that you would.”

Aang doesn’t relax, though, instead giving Zuko a worried look. Zuko turns his head so that he faces him, and Aang looks away. Then looks back. Then away again.

“I came here to think,” says Aang softly, so softly that Zuko might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been listening for it. “After the treaty, I… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about my people.”

_Oh._

“Oh,” Zuko says. He’s definitely not drunk anymore.

“Yeah.”

Aang sighs, looking down at his hands. “I wish they were here,” he says. “I miss them. To me, I only saw them a few months ago. Getting pulled out of the ice… It felt like I’d seen them just days before. When I went to the Southern Air Temple all of those months ago with Sokka and Katara and saw the temple completely abandoned, I just…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to.

Zuko waits.

“It feels wrong,” Aang whispers. He rests his chin on his knees as he brings them up to his chest. “There should be four nations. Not three. I know I’m the representative of the Air Nomads, so all four nations are technically present, but that’s not how it should be. There should be _more_ of us. It feels wrong that we’re talking about peace when there’s an entire nation, _my_ nation, that won’t ever be able to see that peace happen. It’s too late for us.”

There are silent tears running down Aang’s face, and Zuko is a little amazed at how steady he’s managed to keep his voice this entire time. He looks at Aang for a moment, hesitating.

Then, slowly, he wraps his arms around Aang.

Aang responds by turning completely, almost knocking Zuko over with the force of his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says quietly. “I wish they were here, too.”

Aang sniffs, burying his face into Zuko’s shoulder.

“It’s so-- It’s just--” Aang takes a deep, shuddering breath, his voice shaking for the first time. “It’s not _fair._ I miss them. I miss all of them. I miss my friends, I miss the monks, I miss all of the lemurs, I miss all of the sky bison, I miss _Gyatso._ Zuko, I-- I miss Gyatso so much.”

“I know,” whispers Zuko. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“And I--” Aang swallows. “I know that they’re not really gone. Not really. I know that they’re still with me in my heart, and they’ll always be with me. But I just wish that they were _here._ And I wish that I could go home to them.”

His arms tighten around Zuko. Zuko squeezes back.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he has a place to say anything here.

So he keeps hugging Aang, allowing the silence to fill the little space between them until Aang is crying again, really crying, these sobbing hiccups coming out of his mouth, and Zuko just holds him tighter.

“You’re really strong, Aang,” says Zuko, once Aang has calmed down a little bit. His voice catches slightly towards the end. “You’re incredible. I don’t know how you’re even still standing with all of the weight that you carry.”

“Same reason as you,” Aang says, pulling away. He wipes his eyes, but he doesn’t move away from Zuko. “Had to grow up fast.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “We did.”

They did.

Aang laughs a little, pulling away completely this time as he continues to wipe his eyes. “Thanks,” he says. “Sorry for crying all over you.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Aang smiles at Zuko, watery and still a little sad, and Zuko smiles back at him.

“You’ll take care of yourself when you’re back in the palace, right?” Aang asks abruptly. “You’ll sleep and eat, right?”

“If I have time,” Zuko says, blinking at the sudden subject change. Aang frowns.

“That’s not right,” he says.

“I’m the Fire Lord, Aang. I have a lot of things to do. Besides, we were just talking about you. Don’t try to change the subject on me.”

Aang looks at Zuko, uncharacteristically serious. There’s no trace of the bright, smiling boy with that stupid marble trick in his gaze. Sitting here, beside Zuko, is a boy who has been forced to grow up, forced to take on the burdens of people much older than him, burdens that no one should have to carry, much less a kid his age.

A boy who has lost everything but somehow manages to keep going.

“You have to take care of yourself,” Aang says.

Zuko doesn’t respond, instead looking away from Aang and out at the city. The lights in the other houses are off. Perhaps they’ve all already gone home.

“You know,” says Zuko quietly, “I used to think that emotions meant that you were weak. I didn’t really realize that that was my thought process until a few days ago, after the assassination attempt. I guess Ozai really did a number on me.”

“Emotions don’t make you weak,” Aang says. “They’re just a part of being human. You’re entitled to your emotions.”

“Yeah, I know that now,” Zuko says. “I’m starting to, at least. But I just can’t… I don’t know if I can take care of myself while knowing that there are so many other things that I could be doing. It’s just not a priority.”

 _I don’t think I deserve to rest,_ he doesn’t say. _Even if I did, I don’t think I know how to._

Aang is quiet for a moment, and the silence that replaces Zuko’s voice is heavy.

"Zuko,” he says. “There’s no way for you to be a productive Fire Lord without you taking care of yourself. You’re no help to anyone if you collapse again. Besides, I’d choose seeing you okay rather than any political thing you could do.”

Well. Fuck. Zuko doesn’t know how to argue with any of that. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

“You’re pretty smart for a twelve year old,” Zuko manages, his voice rough.

“I’ve got you to thank for it,” Aang says, grinning. “You chasing us all over the world helped me learn how to think fast.”

“Now you’re thanking me for hunting you?” Zuko asks disbelievingly. “ _Aang_.”

 _"_ _Zuko_.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile as Aang laughs beside him.

“But you’ll take care of yourself?” asks Aang after a moment. His grey eyes are serious, his lips pressed tightly together. “Without Mai pressuring you into doing it?”

“I’ll try,” says Zuko.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Aang holds out his hand to Zuko, and Zuko realizes that he wants him to shake it. Mildly bewildered, Zuko takes his hand, and Aang pumps it once, twice, grinning widely.

“Thank you, Fire Lord Zuko,” he says, making flame and bowing. “Did I make flame right this time?”

Zuko smiles. “Yeah,” he says, unable to keep the fondness out of his tone. “You did.”

Aang beams at him, then pulls him into another hug. Then he frowns, positioning his hands so that he holds Zuko at arms length.

“You promised,” he says solemnly.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. He meets Aang’s gaze, hoping that the look in his eyes conveys more than words can. “I promise.”

\---

Zuko hates goodbyes. In case he hasn’t already made this clear.

His goodbye to Uncle takes place at the Jasmine Dragon over a cup of tea, of course. Uncle makes Zuko promise to write when he has a problem, or even if he doesn’t have a problem, and is very adamant that he communicates with him. Their meeting ends in tears on Uncle’s part and a hug that Zuko initiates.

He’s making small steps, but steps nonetheless.

The next morning, he heads down to where his ship is with the rest of his friends. The boats of both Water Tribes are down there as well, and Aang seems to have flown Appa down so that their goodbyes can be closer together.

Despite what she said last night, a last minute letter results in Toph going back home to her parents again. She makes it very, very clear that she would rather die.

“They threatened to charge Aang with kidnapping if I went with him,” she grumbles, kicking the ground. “My parents are influential enough that Aang could really get hurt, so he’s going to drop me off straight in Gaoling. I bet that I’m going to end up running away from home again, but I’ve got to wait on some paperwork for the metalbending academy first. I might stop by to pay you a visit, Sparky, since I can’t read.”

“It would be an honor,” Zuko says, and he’s only partially joking.

Ty Lee pulls him away next, making him promise that he’ll look after himself and look after Mai. She asks if she could visit sometime, and Zuko responds with more enthusiasm than he thought he was physically capable of.

“I’ll miss you,” says Ty Lee as they hug. “Tell Mai that I miss her, too, and that she can always join the Kyoshi warriors if she gets bored of you.”

“I’m not telling her that last part.”

Ty Lee shrugs, squeezing him tightly, and smiles as she pulls away. “It was worth a shot.”

Given that they’re both major world leaders, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Chief Arnook seeks Zuko out, but it is.

“Fire Lord,” Chief Arnook says, and Zuko pauses in his conversation with his captain. He nods at the captain, dismissing him, and turns to give the chief his full attention.

“Chief Arnook,” Zuko says. “It was an honor to work alongside you this past week.”

Chief Arnook inclines his head. “I return the sentiment,” he says. “I’d like to thank you, Fire Lord Zuko, for everything that you have done over this week. I do not regret my previous assessment of you, because although I proved to be incorrect, I believe I was justified in my opinions. But I do regret placing the blame of my daughter’s death on you. It was unnecessary and unprofessional of me to have put that additional burden on your shoulders. I apologize.”

Chief Arnook bows.

“Please don’t do that,” Zuko says quickly, eyes blown wide open. “I should be the one apologizing. You were right. I deserved what you said.”

Chief Arnook stands back up straight, chuckling. “Sokka was right,” he says, almost to himself. He smiles slightly. “Fire Lord Zuko, I would like to make it very clear that I no longer blame you for what happened to my daughter. You were not the one responsible for her death. You have made some bad choices, but it is obvious to me, now, that you are dedicated to helping the world heal. I cannot say that I trust you yet, but I certainly believe that you have the best intentions in mind. In an odd way, the fact that you came near bankrupting your country is proof of that.”

Zuko swallows. He bows back, much lower than Chief Arnook did.

"Thank you, sir,” he manages. “I truly am sorry.”

“There is nothing left for you to apologize to me for,” says Chief Arnook. “I’d like to move on and look towards the future, as you said last time. I have no grudges against you, Fire Lord Zuko. I look forward to our future interactions.”

He nods at Zuko, then turns towards his ship. He beckons Sokka over to him, who scrambles to give Suki one last hug.

“Bye, everyone!” Sokka shouts, dashing up the ramp to the ship. Katara waves furiously at him from where she stands on the Southern Water Tribe’s boat with Chief Hakoda. Toph earthbends herself up on top of Appa, Aang following shortly behind with a gust of wind and Momo wrapped up in his arms.

Zuko boards his own ship, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his regalia. He pauses just before he steps on board, turning at the last minute.

He catches Aang’s eye.

Aang smiles at him, waving energetically at him with both hands.

“We’re going to do the ceremonies at the Air Temples!” Zuko shouts at him, cupping his hands around his mouth. Aang blinks. “I’ll make sure of it myself. We’ll honor your people properly. I promise!”

Aang’s surprise breaks as a huge smile spreads across his face.

“Thank you!” he calls back, waving with even more enthusiasm, and his voice is trembling slightly. “And remember your other promise, too!”

“I will!” Zuko yells. He smiles.

Spirits. Zuko is going to miss them all so much.

Then the captain is saying something about having to leave, so Zuko reluctantly pulls away from the railing of the ship. He waves at his friends, and all of them wave back, and he wishes that they could’ve had more time together, wishes that they weren’t here because of politics. Wishes that they could all go back to the Western Air Temple or Ember Island, savoring the time that they took for granted together because of the war, the time that they lost because of Zuko’s mistakes.

But this won’t be the last time.

Zuko’s ship leaves first. He watches Ba Sing Se grow smaller and smaller as his ship goes farther and farther away, and he wonders if this is how his friends felt when they left the Fire Nation all of those weeks ago. If it is, he doesn’t know how they were able to bear it.

“Sir?” It’s Eiji. “Would you like to discuss our course for home with the captain?”

_Home._

“I’ll be right there,” says Zuko, and Eiji nods. He turns back to look out at the horizon again, and Ba Sing Se has just become a little dot in the distance. He wonders if the other ships and Appa have left yet.

He turns away, closing his eyes and sighing. When he reopens his eyes, he sets his shoulders back and tightens his jaw.

They’re going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the chapter title ;)) I may not have decided to go through with the Promise, but there is _a _promise. Technically two. I usually struggle to come up with chapter titles, but I've had this one in mind for forever.__
> 
> __Did the Gaang _have _to get drunk for the purpose of the plot? No. Was it fun to write? Yes. Will it be happening again in the future except way more lighthearted and the drunk part of it is way more emphasized? Uh yes lmao what do you take me for. They're teenagers; they deserve this.___ _
> 
> ____As always, leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! The next chapter will have both Azula's and Zuko's perspectives in it. I hope you enjoyed this arc! <3_ _ _ _
> 
> ____Come bother me on_[Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)_ _ _


	12. pity the weak and the liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula is not having a good time in the institution. Zuko has two conversations (technically three), and he realizes that he really, really fucked up. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!! This is a heavy chapter, so there are kind of a lot this time.
> 
> Happy new year!!!
> 
> I rewrote this chapter like six times, but I don't think I can get it exactly to where I want it to be. It feels a little... abrupt in some parts? But it's fine, I guess. Whatever. The first part is Azula, second part is Zuko. Just like chapter 4, Azula's part is mostly fragmented thoughts and pieces of events that show the passage of time, except this time, it's her time in the institution rather than the prison. The Azula section is why it's dark, and all of the CWs below apply to it.
> 
> I posted this on my Tumblr before, but I wanted to say it here, too. The upcoming chapters are going to be darker than the previous ones, so I wanted to let you all know that if there's something in the CW that you'd rather not read, you can absolutely shoot me a message on Tumblr and ask for a quick summary of the chapter or ask about what paragraphs you should skip to avoid certain parts.
> 
> CW: Violence (fighting, forceful uses of a syringe), force-feeding and vomiting, suicidal thoughts (they're scattered throughout, but it's _VERY _explicit in one section, even though they just stay thoughts - if you want to skip the really explicit part, stop right before "her escape attempts" and start again where it says "Sato comes in one day"), intrusive thoughts. I think that was everything? Let me know if I missed something.__

_Zuko lied._

It’s Azula’s first thought upon waking up in the institution, fabric straps binding her to a hard mattress in a windowless room, not a lick of sunlight in the space. Her lips are chapped, her mouth tastes foul, her eyes feel hatefully dry, and it’s completely dark in the room.

He promised her sunlight.

_He promised me sunlight._

The burning in Azula’s eyes angers her. Her lip curls into a snarl, and she writhes against the straps holding her down, the fabric rubbing at the exposed skin on her arms.

_Zuko lied._

Azula never thought that he would. Not to her. Not like this.

Does that make her weak?

There’s nothing else to do but scream, so she does, high and angry and raw, the sound tearing at the sides of her throat, and she can feel fire behind her tongue, licking the sides of her mouth. Heat floods her body, and the fabric straps holding her down burn into nothingness in seconds. Azula stumbles to her feet, brushing ashes off of the rough fabric of her clothes (new, clean clothes, no longer a prisoner’s wear, and she wonders when they changed her, wonders why she feels so uncomfortable with the thought).

Her legs are slightly shaky as she takes a few steps forward. She falls against the door on the other side of the room heavily, teeth gritted together, as her lungs squeeze and her chest heaves.

_Zuko lied._

If this is the extent of cruelty he is able to show, perhaps he won’t be such a terrible Fire Lord after all.

The door flies open, and Azula just barely catches herself on the door frame. She squints up at the figures in front of her, their bodies cast starkly in the light behind them.

There are windows in the hallway.

A determination seizes Azula, and she lunges forward, but there are arms, strong arms, holding her back from the sunlight that’s _right there_ , only a few steps away, and Azula’s mouth opens, ready to unleash the flames that have been building up in her mouth this entire time.

“Get her,” one of the nurses says. Someone grabs her roughly from behind, holding her back with a fabric around her mouth. Azula breathes fire, burning the gag into ashes, and punches the nurse in front of her right in the face. There’s a crack and a howl of pain, but Azula doesn’t pay attention as she shoves past the nurse, running out of the room, sprinting down the hall as fast as she can.

Someone tackles her. She’s on the ground. There’s a flash of metal, and Azula doesn’t have time to even scream in fury as the syringe meets the skin of her arm again.

\---

She wakes up in chains instead of straps.

Her entire body aches. Her stomach feels painfully empty, her throat drier than the Si Wong Desert, and she wonders how long it’s been. It feels like it could’ve been anywhere from a couple of hours to several days. Perhaps even longer.

It’s too dark to tell.

“You’ve been out for hours.”

Azula’s eyes fly open. Mother is standing above her, dressed as perfectly as always, her hair combed to a glossy shine even in the darkness.

“How did you get in?” asks Azula, and she hates how hoarse her voice is. “And how do you know that?”

“You rise with the sun,” says Mother simply.

“Don’t try and pretend that you care about me,” snaps Azula, but her voice catches slightly at the end due to the strain on her throat. She refuses to wince. “There’s no one here to fool but me anymore. And I am much too aware of your lies to fall for them any longer, Mother.”

“Azula, I love y--”

“You don’t.”

“I love--”

“You _don’t!”_

Azula’s voice rings in the silence, bouncing against the walls with smoky, pitiful tendrils of blue fire that briefly light up Mother's face. She is looking down at her with disappointment, almost, and Azula hates it. She hates _her._

“Don’t pretend anymore,” says Azula in a low voice. “It’s just the two of us now. You have nothing to lie to me about anymore.”

Azula closes her eyes. When she opens them, Mother is gone.

\---

But she comes back.

She always comes back.

\---

The problem with all of this is that despite actually trying to escape, she has not managed it once. Azula is not used to failure, especially when she is giving it her all.

She is released from the chains only to use the restroom and to eat the food that they give her, which is admittedly better than prison food, but that’s just about where the improvements stop. She might as well be a rabid animal with how they treat her, and she knows that she’s not giving them any reason to treat her like something else because of how she screams and laughs, but she can’t seem to stop.

She falls into a cycle. Try to escape, get drugged, wake up in chains. And she craves the sun the whole time. Her firebending becomes weaker and weaker as her body and inner flame waste away, a problem that even endless, drug-induced sleep cannot fix. She was able to get tastes of the sun in the prison when she was in that windowless cell, but they didn’t have syringes and drugs there. Here, they do. And here, she still has no window in her room.

She slips away more and more with each passing hour.

\---

Somehow, the worst part is that Zuko doesn’t visit. The thought angers her.

“That’s the difference between him and Father,” Azula spits at Mother. “Father likes to see the damage he does. Zuzu, apparently, prefers to take a step back and let things sit for a bit. Perhaps he’ll leave me in here forever.”

“Azula,” Mother says gently, wearing that hateful frown and using that concerning tone that fools no one, least of all Azula. “Zuko has not abandoned you. _I_ did not abandon you. You are pushing people away in an effort to prove yourself right.”

It turns out that the worst part is actually that Azula can’t firebend properly due to her restraints and a lack of sun. But Mother still goes.

\---

One day, Azula refuses to eat her food.

It’s not even that big of a deal. It’s not an attempt at rebellion or an effort to starve herself to death. She’s just tired and doesn’t feel like it.

They end up sending in four men to hold her down while one of the nurses force-feeds the food to her. It’s the worst experience of her entire life, leaving her feeling handled, _violated_ in a way that she has never felt before.

She throws up before they can leave. They take off the chains so that she doesn’t choke. 

She’s almost disappointed that they do.

\---

“You’ll never be unchained if you keep trying to escape,” a nurse tells her after she wakes from a drugged sleep for the fifth time. “You’ve been in here for three days already. You should know better by now.”

 _Three days._ Three days, no Zuko, no sun.

She doesn’t think that the nurse intended to be taunting, but it certainly sounds like it is. Azula cannot respond, of course, because there is a gag around her mouth, so she settles for a scathing glare.

\---

“They tried to poison me,” Azula spits. Her hands are trembling uncontrollably beneath the shackles holding her down, lips still slick with vomit. “You-- you told them to. That’s the only explanation for this.”

The room still echoes from the clang of the door when it shut behind the nurses who came to give Azula her food. Mother had appeared the moment they were gone, no doubt to mock Azula for her shaking hands, her tight lungs, a heart slamming against her ribcage, all the aftermath of an emptied stomach.

“Your body is not reacting to anything in the food, Azula,” says Mother softly, eyes gentle with concern, and Azula snarls. “This is a response to how they treated you. It isn’t--”

“I am not _weak!_ ” Azula screams. She wants to burn everything to the ground, wants to take everyone in this damned institution and _melt_ them into a puddle of skin and bones and blood, into nothingness, into-- into--

Azula retches.

She lunges up against the chains in an instinctive effort to sit up, and she finds, miraculously, mercifully, that the metal has melted off of her body.

She throws up off of the side of her bed, hands gripping her sheets tightly. Tears stream down her face, blurring her vision, as she gasps raggedly, and, vaguely, she thinks that parts of her clothes have been burned off from the melted chains. She wonders if she’s been hurt, too.

She hardly even notices when the door opens, light flooding the room, and a needle plunges into her.

\---

Her escape attempts become more desperate. She endangers her own life as much as she endangers the lives of others.

Nothing comes out of it but more syringes to her increasingly bruised arms.

\---

Azula starts thinking of ways to kill herself. She has plenty of time to herself, after all, in a dark room chained to a bed and no company but Mother’s and the occasional nurse. It’s possible that the sheer amount of drugs being put into her every single day to stop her from escaping will do it, but she doesn’t know if she wants to go through that much suffering. No, if she dies, she will make it honorable.

She decides to do it traditionally, with a blade to the stomach. The next time that she sees someone with a weapon, she’ll disarm them and do it right then and there.

But not even an hour after coming to this decision (or it could’ve been days; she has no sense of time in this room), she remembers what Father said about soldiers who committed suicide. No matter what the circumstances were, no matter how honorably they did it, he called them cowards for not being able to pull through, weak for their failures. Besides, if she died, it would satisfy Mother.

Azula decides to keep going.

\---

Sato comes in one day, the door slamming shut behind her in a heavy clang of metal. Azula, still chained to her bed, of course, just rolls her eyes at the sight of her.

“Oh,” she says, her voice hoarse from having just finished screaming at Mother. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” agrees Sato. She drags a chair from the corner of the room into the middle, holding a journal in her hands. “Azula--”

“ _Princess_ Azula,” she snaps.

There’s a light pause.

“Princess Azula,” Sato amends at last. “You’re frightening our nurses.”

“Oh no,” says Azula sarcastically. “What a pity.”

“You are here to get a solution to your problem, Princess Azula. We do not want to hurt you, but you are giving us too many reasons to do so. We cannot possibly fix you if you keep lashing out.”

Azula fixes her with a harsh, withering glare. Sato, infuriatingly, doesn’t flinch.

“I suppose the joke is on you, then,” Azula says. “I have no intention of stopping. If you wanted submission, you ought to have gone to Zuzu instead.”

Sato raises her eyebrows slightly, glancing down at her journal. “Well,” she says, opening it up and flipping through the pages, “I have some things to talk to you about. You haven’t been cooperative in the slightest with the people that I’ve sent in, but I hope that you will change your mind with me.”

“You’re all trying to kill me,” says Azula, frowning. “Working for Mother, there’s no question about it. She’s probably whispering in your ear right now, feeding you what to say. Why would I answer your questions?”

“We might be able to move you to a room with a window in it if you do.”

 _That_ catches Azula’s attention, and she hates that it does. Hates that she’s being affected by a simple bribe, that she’s been reduced to _this._ It is unbecoming. Humiliating. _Pitiful._

Azula is not pitiful.

She tilts her head to look at Sato, wanting to melt the satisfied smirk on the woman’s face.

Instead, she breathes fire at her.

The flames are weak but still hot, and Sato jumps backwards to avoid it. Azula doesn’t hesitate to send another burst of fire at her, charring the stone floor and catching on Sato’s robes.

 _"What do you take me for?”_ Azula screams, writhing against the chains (she hates it, she hates it, she hates what she has become, the monster that Mother always saw in her). “I’m not some common peasant that you can bribe and manipulate to do your bidding! You ought to be bowing down to me, not treating me like I cannot think for myself! You--”

Azula doesn’t get to finish her sentence. The doors burst open, and two men come into the room. One of them is holding a very familiar syringe.

_Not again._

She screams again, this time sending her fire to the farthest reaches of the room, but the flames are so weak that they keep coming. She’s tired, so tired (she misses the sun sorely), and can hardly keep them away from her. They keep coming closer, but she doesn’t _want_ them closer, she wants them away from her, far away, because she doesn’t want to be drugged again, doesn’t want the foggy cloud of nothingness again, doesn’t want them here, doesn’t--

\---

 _Hair sticks to her forehead, sweat clinging to her skin, in a room that feels hot, too hot, like someone’s started a fire, and there’s a boy with his back to her with a top knot and a five pronged crown shouting at someone in the doorway, and there’s smoke coming from his clenched fists, tiny golden flames licking his fingers, and she has the odd sense that someone is protecting her, that someone is making sure that she’s okay, and she-- she wants Mother, but Mother never loved her; Father loved her_ (he had to have loved her) _, but Father isn’t here, and Father failed, just like she did_ (does he still love her, even knowing that she failed?) _, and she wonders if Mother still would’ve killed Grandfather if he’d commanded Father to kill Azula instead, but there’s the boy, the boy with the top knot that barely holds and the five pronged crown that sits too unevenly on his head, and he’s shouting--_

\---

She wakes up in a room full of orange sunlight from a setting sun with the boy sitting on a chair across from her bed.

Azula blinks. She looks around the room, down at the soft white sheets and the buttery gold wash of the sun all over the clean room. It looks nothing like the room she’d been in before.

And she’s not chained up. She’s not strapped down, either. She is completely unrestrained for the first time in ages, and her body is bathed in sunlight.

“You’re awake.”

Azula stiffens immediately, hands tightening on top of the sheets as she prepares to firebend. She meets Zuko’s eyes with a glare, knowing that her cold stare is offset by the bags under her eyes, the sallowness of her skin, how gaunt her face is, the tangled mess of her hair.

But Zuko doesn’t look that great, either. There are circles beneath his eyes, strands of dark hair loose from his top knot and falling around his forehead. Even in the vibrant orange sunlight, his face looks too pale, his cheekbones jutting out a little more than usual. It doesn’t look like he’s slept at all.

Still, one of them is wearing the finest silk the Fire Nation has to offer and the other is in rough rags that scratch at her skin. They have too many differences to make their similarities count.

Azula does not respond to him.

“I didn’t know how they were treating you here,” says Zuko, his voice sounding rough and slightly strained, as though he’d been yelling. “I was in Ba Sing Se for the week. I came home this morning and went to see you as soon as I could. I had no idea that they were treating you like this.”

Zuko didn’t abandon her. Azula refuses to acknowledge her relief at the thought.

“If your plan was to torture me,” says Azula, in that haughty tone that she’s mastered, “or to put me somewhere worse than that prison, then I’m pleased to inform you that you’ve succeeded.”

She takes momentary pleasure in the way that Zuko’s tired, tense face crumbles into hurt, into regret, into guilt. He wears the expression easily, as though he’s had _practice_ with it, and Azula wonders if this is a calculation or if he’s felt this emotion so many times that his features have learned exactly where to go.

It’s clearly the latter. Zuko always was so bad at hiding his emotions. She wonders what could possibly inspire so much guilt in him so often.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Don’t apologize,” Azula says dismissively. “You did the right thing. You’re the Fire Lord, and I don’t think that you belong on the throne. I’m a traitor and a prisoner, so I ought to be treated as such.” She pauses, scoffing. “I can’t believe I thought that you actually put me in there on purpose. You’re still so weak.”

Zuko’s lips twitch slightly. “You’re saying that I should leave you in the institution?”

“Yes,” Azula says, making it very clear that she’s not joking. “A proper Fire Lord not weakened by his own emotions would’ve.”

There’s a silence.

“I had a… discussion with Doctor Sato,” Zuko says softly. “I wanted to move you into the palace, but we agreed that it isn’t a good idea to do that quite yet. I’ve made a few things regarding your treatment very clear with Sato, but you’re going to have to stay in the institution for now. I’m sorry.”

“And how _am_ I going to be treated, Zuzu?” Azula drawls. She sits up, willing herself not to wince as she puts weight on the arm that the syringe had stabbed into. “Will they strap me to another bed? Keep me away from the sun until my inner flame finally goes out? Poke me with needles and fill me up with enough drugs until I’m no longer a bother to anyone?”

_Force-feed me until I have nothing left to vomit?_

Zuko meets her gaze levelly. “No,” he says. “I had no idea that this was how the Fire Nation treated its own people. I’m going to fix it, and you’re going to get the help that you need, that you _deserve._ ”

Azula laughs.

She knows how it sounds. She knows how _she_ sounds. But Zuko’s expression, though it falters slightly, does not change. He keeps looking at her with that determined, steely look in his gold eyes.

If he were older and had a gaze holding cold fire instead of flames fueled by his own passion, he would look like Father.

“What’s your game here?” Azula asks suspiciously, once her laughter dies out. “You really think that you can fix me? You can’t possibly be that naive.”

“I don’t think you need to be fixed,” Zuko says. “I don’t know what the doctors have told you, but there’s nothing in you that needs to be fixed. You need to be helped.”

 _Helped._ Again with the help, again with the pity, again with all of this.

“I don’t _need_ help.” She can feel her hands growing hotter and hotter, but the fabric in her hands doesn’t catch fire. “I don’t need your pity, either, Zuzu. I’m not as weak as you are. Get out.”

Azula punches two blasts of fire at Zuko and relishes in her renewed power for a moment. The sun seems to have strengthened her flames, but they’re still weak enough that Zuko merely bats them away, unharmed. He stands up, back as straight as steel and his good eye filled with so much emotion that it’s sickening.

_Burn the other side of his face off to erase that expression._

Azula stiffens.

She doesn’t want to do that.

The thought feels momentous, somehow. Because Father would. Father _did._ What does that make Father? What does that make _Azula_ for feeling like she might throw up at the thought of doing the same?

But she doesn’t want that, that’s the absolute last thing she wants to do, but Father would laugh if she did, and she laughed when he burned his face because Father wanted her to, and what else was she supposed to do?

“Do you really want me to go?” Zuko asks quietly, breaking her out of her thoughts. She lifts her head.

_No._

“Yes,” Azula snarls. “ _Go._ ”

Mother has done many things to her, but this-- this is the worst thing that she has done. She doesn’t know what thoughts are her own and what thoughts Mother is whispering in her ears. Mother may have liked Zuko better, but would her hatred for Azula, her desire to see her dead and alone and without the throne, override that feeling? Does Mother love Zuko more or hate Azula more? Does _Father_ love Azula more or hate Zuko more?

(Does Father still love Azula? Does Mother still love Zuko?)

It all comes down to this again.

It always does.

Zuko nods once, his face suddenly closing off. He pauses just before he opens the door, hand resting on the handle, and turns slightly so that his good eye meets hers. Azula forces herself not to flinch.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he says it steadily, like a promise. “I’m not ever leaving you again, ‘Zula.”

Azula stares at him, at a momentary loss for words. Zuko smiles at her slightly, sadly, and opens the door. It closes behind him with a gentle click.

Azula burns her bed to ashes.

*****

Zuko has to take several deep breaths when he gets back to the palace after talking to Azula to avoid setting his entire room on fire. It’s dark by the time he reaches his room, and he closes the door behind him hard enough that it almost rattles the door frame.

He’s angry.

He is so, so angry.

He’d come so close to losing control when he was shouting at Doctor Sato. There were flames igniting in the back of his throat, and he could taste smoke on his tongue as scathing words and commands lashed out of his mouth, but even despite that, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to feel bad about the fright on Sato’s face. Still can’t.

He can’t help but think that she deserved it.

But it’s as much his fault as it is hers. He should’ve done more research on Fire Nation medical practices, specifically within the psychiatric area, because if he had, he would’ve known that the Fire Nation focuses on control, not on healing. That it treats its patients like it treats its prisoners, that it doesn’t care about helping people as much as it does keeping them out of the public eye. It’s so consistent with the rest of Fire Nation philosophy that Zuko wants to laugh at his lack of knowledge. If he’d researched, he would’ve known that.

Every single day, the failings of Zuko’s education, having been cut off midway due to his banishment, become more and more clear. He knows so much about the rest of the world from firsthand experience, but the information that he has on his own country is lacking at best. He nearly bankrupted the Fire Nation, for Agni’s sake, and now he’s put blind trust in an institution that he should’ve known was going to do more harm than good.

_Some excuse for a Fire Lord._

There’s a knock on his door, and Zuko turns around quickly. Akira’s head pops through the doorway.

"Lady Mai is here,” she says. “Should I let her in?”

_Mai._

“Yes,” Zuko says quickly, a flood of relief washing over him. “That would be great.”

The door opens wider and Mai steps into the room, her glossy hair tied into its two usual buns. She’s wearing her traveling cloak, and her shoulders are slouched with tiredness. But she looks up, meeting Zuko’s eyes, and her face lights up.

Zuko doesn’t hesitate. He pulls her into a hug that leaves no space between them, holding her tightly to his chest. Somewhere far away, Zuko hears the door click shut, leaving the two of them alone in a room awash with moonlight.

“Hey,” Mai says, and she’s clearly suppressing a smile. She wraps her arms around his neck, gently kissing his cheek.

“I missed you,” mumbles Zuko. He finds her hand and wraps their fingers together, squeezing tightly.

“I missed you, too,” says Mai softly. “You didn’t write.”

“I’m sorry. I was really busy. I meant to, I promise.”

“I know. I believe you.”

She smells like the night air and rain and that shampoo she always uses, the one scented like tiger lilies that Zuko teases her about. Her arms are soft around him, her hands grounding him to reality and keeping him _here_ , in this moment, and Zuko wonders how he ever went a full week without her. It feels like he’s been holding his breath this whole time and only comes up for air now, with her.

His hands go to her waist, almost on their own accord, and he rests his chin on her shoulder, closing her eyes.

“Did you sleep?” she asks quietly.

“Not yet. Did you?”

“No. I haven’t been lately.”

“Neither have I.”

“That’s nothing new.”

Zuko smiles into her shoulder, and he feels her smiling, too.

“I guess there’s only one solution for this,” he says, pulling away slightly to look her in the eyes. Mai raises an eyebrow, though she has less success with keeping the smile off of her face this time.

“Oh?” she asks. “What would that be?”

“It’s late,” says Zuko. “Really dark outside. You’ll have to stay here with me tonight. Can’t risk an assassin coming by and taking the Fire Lord’s girlfriend out.”

Mai laughs, low and dry. “That wouldn’t be ideal,” she says. “I guess I have no choice.”

She takes his hand, pulling him to his bed, and the two collapse on top of the mattress together, hands still intertwined. Zuko turns his head to look at her, dragging the pillow down beneath his head. Mai scoots closer to him.

“How’s your family doing?” asks Zuko. He reaches out to run a hand through Mai’s hair.

“They’re fine,” she says. “My aunt is helping them out while they get back on their feet. She has a flower shop. Mom helps her out there sometimes. Tom-Tom tries.”

“That’s nice,” Zuko says, and he means it. “They’ll be staying in the city for awhile, then?”

“Seems like it. Even though Dad doesn’t like you very much anymore.”

"Oh.”

"It’s fine,” Mai says, shaking her head. “He’s a jerk, anyways. He can’t seem to let go of the fact that he isn’t the governor of Omashu anymore. He thinks that Ozai should be on the throne. That should tell you everything that you need to know.”

Zuko blinks. “Seriously? He’s an Ozai loyalist?”

Mai gives him an odd look. “You sound like you’ve heard about this,” she says slowly, frowning slightly. “I can’t imagine you got much news from the Fire Nation while you were in Ba Sing Se.”

Shit.

Zuko forgot to tell her about the assassination attempt.

Fuck. _Fuck._

He should’ve written to her. Why didn’t he write? He was going to. He should’ve-- fuck. _Fuck._

“Zuko?” prompts Mai. She reaches out, poking his collarbone gently. “You’re doing it again. No secrets, remember?”

“Sorry,” says Zuko. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit. I was so busy; I completely forgot-- I’ll tell you now. Promise you won’t be mad?”

“I’m not promising anything.”

Zuko nods. “Right. Yeah. There was-- um.”

He closes his eyes again, pressing his cheek into the pillow. “There was an assassination attempt,” he says. “An Ozai loyalist got on my ship. He didn’t succeed, obviously, but, uh. He got me in the shoulder.”

_I killed him._

Silence.

Zuko opens his eyes. Mai’s expression is familiar but not one that he’s seen in a long time: closed-off, cold, guarded.

“Zuko,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve written.”

“I know, I’m--” Zuko sits up, and so does Mai. He rests his elbows on his knees, legs spread apart, and buries his face into his hands. “I should’ve written the moment it was all over, but I had so much to do afterwards. It should’ve been a priority, and it was, but I just… I fucked up.”

Mai is quiet for a moment, long enough that Zuko lifts his head to look at her. She’s not looking at him, though; her eyes are on the door on the other side of the room. She’s frowning slightly, and Zuko wants to smooth out the line between her eyebrows like he always does, but something tells him that that isn’t the right move for this moment.

“You did,” she says at last. Her voice is hard. She looks at him, eyes like two cold gems. “You really did fuck up, Zuko. That’s something that you should’ve told me.”

“I know. I’m… I’m sorry.”

She’s going to go. He knows that she is.

He’s right.

Mai slides off of the bed. “I’m going to go to my room,” she says in an unreadable tone. She still isn’t looking at him. “Goodnight.”

“Mai--”

“You should’ve told me,” she snaps, eyes flashing as she whirls to face him. “I know you were busy, but what the hell, Zuko? Why am I always the last person to find out about these things?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Zuko says defensively. “I really was going to write--”

“But you didn’t,” Mai says. She shakes her head. “You did what you always did, and you stayed quiet because it was easier for you. We said no more secrets. You promised. I thought we were getting somewhere.”

"Mai, I--”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Zuko.”

She turns away. The doors shut behind her.

Zuko does not move from where he sits for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unrelated to this chapter, but I finally started watching Legend of Korra and realized that Sato was probably not the best choice of a last name for a character? Whoops. Too late to change it now. Anyways, I'm like halfway through S3 rn and it's not that bad? There are a few parts that I'm kind of eh about, but overall, I think I like it.
> 
> Every single time I think I'm starting to get used to writing Azula when she's in this state, my brain is just like no <3 no you're not <3 fuck you <3 It doesn't help that I spent like two weeks writing Ba Sing Se between her last chapter and this one, and that arc was definitely the lightest of the arcs I've planned. But I still love her. I'd die for Azula don't @ me.
> 
> Also thank you all sm for your comments - I always get so fucking nervous whenever I post a new chapter. Comments literally make my entire day, and I always reread them when I'm feeling down or unmotivated or just generally not feeling great about my writing. Seriously - thank you. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you keep enjoying :D
> 
> (Come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) <3)


	13. one step forward (two steps back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mai and Zuko argue a lot and go on a very emotional rollercoaster ride. Also, the Gaang writes letters to each other, and Zuko starts making plans to improve the Fire Nation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!!
> 
> Regarding Maiko, the chapter is literally exactly what is says in the summary. Things go up, then they go very down, then they go kinda up again? And then they go back down again. But don't worry. I have Things Planned for them. Many things. Take that as you will ;))
> 
> Okay, I know I say this every single time, but I'm not very happy with this chapter. I wrote like six drafts before I finally landed on this one, and I still think that I could've pulled it off better? But it'll have to do. I'm not sure how many more chapters will be in this transitional arc, but I'm going to hesitantly say that there will be about 4 more. And then, after that, we're on to the Search, and _that _is going to be very, very interesting. I can promise you that.__
> 
> __CW: Vomiting. I think that's it, surprisingly?_ _

_“Fuck.”_

“Is there something wrong, Your Majesty?”

Zuko’s head shoots up, eyes wide, and he makes eye contact with the palace’s librarian, an elderly woman with a head full of grey hair. He opens his mouth, a pink flush flooding his cheeks.

“No,” Zuko says sheepishly. “I was just…”

_Realizing how little I actually know about my own country? Comprehending how greatly my education was affected by my banishment? Coming to terms with the fact that I’m a terrible Fire Lord and might end up worse than Ozai was due to my own incompetence and constant failures--_

“Reading,” he says. “Sorry. I’ll try to be quiet.”

The librarian smiles. “Understood, Fire Lord,” she says. “Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to assist you.”

Zuko nods, slouching a little against the bookshelf in embarrassment as she walks away. He turns back towards the scroll in his hands.

He’s been in the library since the sun rose, taking advantage of the break he has today now that the first of many peace talks have ended. In lieu of briefing his ministers on the happenings in Ba Sing Se, Zuko sent them a copy of the treaty as well as various agreements that he made regarding ambassadors. It’s far too late to make any changes to these things at this point, and Zuko would rather not spend the day arguing with his ministers over things that he no longer has any control over.

So he’s in the library, hiding between the bookshelves and attempting to compensate for three years of lost education. And he intends to stay here for the rest of the day, perhaps far into the night if he can convince the librarian to leave the keys with him.

He has nowhere to be, anyways. He’s avoiding his ministers and the library is the last place that they would look for him.

And maybe he’s avoiding Mai, too. Just a little bit.

The sun rises higher in the sky, reaching its peak and then going past it. It’s cloudy outside, the scent of rain wafting through one of the opened windows and fluttering the curtains on the other side of the room.

Other than the librarian, Zuko is the only person in the room. He has been for hours. He saw others come in at various points, but they all turned right around and left the moment that they saw the Fire Lord sitting on the ground, surrounded by a neat stack of books and a pile of scrolls.

So it’s a bit of a surprise when someone clears their throat in front of him.

Zuko yelps, then clears his throat to disguise the sound. He looks up.

Mai is standing in front of him with her arms folded, an eyebrow arched.

“Zuko,” she says.

“Hi,” he tries, then winces.

Mai’s eyes flick over the scrolls and books in front of him, then at the notes he’s been taking on a spare sheet of paper. Her eyebrow climbs higher.

“There are desks over there,” she says, gesturing with her chin.

“I know,” says Zuko. “I was, uh…”

“Hiding?” suggests Mai. There’s a hint of a smile on her face. “I never thought I’d see you reading something other than theatre scrolls in my life. You never used to pay attention to your tutors.”

Zuko smiles slightly, but he’s unsure of how to respond. Mai, seeming to sense this, sits down across from him, leaning against the bookshelf. She sighs.

“Are you alright?” she asks quietly.

“Me?” Zuko asks blankly. He frowns. “I should be asking _you_ that. I’m, uh. Good? Fine, I guess. Why?”

“You skipped breakfast. And lunch.”

“...Oh.”

There’s a silence. It’s the most tense one that they’ve been in since Boiling Rock, and Zuko hates that he’s even comparing this moment to then.

“I’m sorry about--”

“I wanted to tell you that I’m--”

Both of them look at each other in amused surprise.

“You go first,” says Mai.

“Okay.” Zuko brings his legs into a lotus position. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about the assassination attempt the moment that I could. I really meant to, I promise, but I just. I got so busy, and I didn’t-- I know this is going to sound bad, but I just forgot about it.”

Mai shakes her head. “I’m sorry, too,” she says. “I shouldn’t have walked out like that last night. You almost got _killed_ , and I made the moment about me. You needed me, and I closed off completely. I wanted to go back into your room the moment that the door shut, but I didn’t think that you would’ve wanted to see me.”

“I always want to see you,” says Zuko. Mai rolls her eyes.

“Sap,” she says.

“You’re the sappy one. We’ve established this.”

“When did we establish this? I was the one who shocked you into silence that day on the docks.”

“You didn’t _shock_ me; you--”

“Persuaded you?” Mai asks, smiling.

Agni. She knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

“Shut up,” mutters Zuko, but there’s no bite to his words. He hesitates, his expression settling back into something more serious. “Are you still angry at me?”

Mai’s smile fades. “Yeah,” she says. “You know that it was really fucked up that you didn’t tell me that you almost died, right? Even if you didn’t mean to leave me out of the loop, you still did.”

She pauses. “It hurt a little, honestly,” she says quietly.

_Oh_.

“Oh,” says Zuko softly, because Mai never talks about these kinds of things, and that simple sentence, the expression on her face following her words, is the most emotionally vulnerable Zuko thinks he’s ever seen her. “Mai, I’m-- I’m really sorry. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”

Mai sighs again. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep,” she says. “I’m sorry, too, but it’s going to happen again. From both of us. I’m going to close off and actively push you out again, and you’re going to lash out or do something like this again. It’s unavoidable and bound to happen, and that’s _fine._ It just matters that we’re trying to improve ourselves and communicate better. We’re trying to get better at this, and we’re making progress. _This_ is progress.”

There’s a brief pause.

Zuko’s lips curl into a slight smile. “Neither of us are good at talking,” he says, “but out of the two of us, I didn’t know that it would be you who would be better at it. I’m the one who’s angry all the time.”

Mai rolls her eyes. “ _Used_ to be angry all the time. And you know I’m better at you than everything. That shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

“Mm. You’re right.”

At some point, Zuko must’ve moved forward, closer to Mai, and she must’ve done the same, because their knees are touching. Zuko looks at Mai and finds that her dark eyes are already on him.

He leans forward, pressing his lips against hers. Her hand slips to his lower back.

“I’m still mad,” she says, breaking the kiss.

“I know.”

“But I’m really, really glad that you’re not dead.”

Zuko laughs quietly, smiling against Mai’s lips. He feels her suppressing a smile of her own, and she pulls him closer to him, their lips meeting once more, and--

“Ahem.”

The two of them jump apart so quickly and so violently that the stack of books is knocked over with a painfully loud crash. Zuko winces. His cheeks are a bright, furious red, and Mai looks like she’s either going to pull out a knife and stab someone or jump out of the window.

The librarian is smiling at them, both of her eyebrows raised. “I’d appreciate it if you two could do that elsewhere, if you must,” she says, and _spirits,_ fucking _spirits,_ Zuko wishes that the ground would just swallow him whole.

“Sorry,” Mai says after a brief pause, her voice painfully composed.

“It won’t happen again,” promises Zuko.

The librarian eyes them both for a moment, then nods. She walks away, chuckling to herself.

“So,” Mai says, avoiding eye contact with Zuko. Her face is slightly pink. “Uh. What are you doing here, anyways?”

“Um,” he says, and he quickly shakes his head to clear it. “I visited Azula in the institution yesterday, right after I got back from Ba Sing Se. She wasn’t… She isn’t doing well there. I put her in the institution because I thought it would help, but I didn’t do enough research beforehand. So I’m educating myself.”

Zuko holds up his notes. “I had no idea that the Fire Nation medical system was like this,” he says. “Look at this. Prisons and institutions are practically the same thing. Patients are treated like criminals. They’re locked up all day and just expected to just get better. Honestly, I don’t think they actually care about helping them. They just have nowhere else to put patients.”

“What are you going to do?” asks Mai. “You can’t just change the way that people think about this kind of stuff.”

“I can’t,” agrees Zuko. “But I’m the Fire Lord. I can at least pass laws and write legislation to change how people handle things like this. So… I’m figuring out what I need to do.”

Mai blinks. Whatever she had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. Any and all traces of the previous tension have completely evaporated.

“What are your ideas?” she asks. “Your ministers aren’t going to be happy if you start announcing all of these big changes. I’m assuming you’ll be abolishing a lot of laws and writing even more, probably rewriting restrictions and guidelines that have been in place for decades. You’ll have to build up a strong plan.”

“My ministers aren’t happy about anything that I do,” Zuko says dismissively. “I’m hoping that this might scare some of them away, actually, so that by the time I bring up reforming the education system, the way will be cleared to make things a little easier.”

“Smart,” says Mai.

“I am.”

Mai pokes his cheek. Zuko makes a face at her.

“I’m going to start with a bunch of research,” he says. “Everyone wants to open up communications between the nations, and sharing information on medicine and healing might be a good way to start that. I’ll lead with that when I bring this up. But I’m going to start with the soldiers returning home. They’re the ones who need help the fastest right now, and I’m going to get it to them.”

Zuko sighs, looking down at the books and scrolls in front of him. “But I’ve got a lot to read, first,” he says quietly. “A _lot._ And it doesn’t help that I have background reading to do before I can even get started on any of this because I missed out on half of my education as a Crown Prince.”

“You’re going to be an amazing Fire Lord,” Mai says, and Zuko goes so red that he’s surprised he doesn’t just burst into flames right then and there. “I’m serious. You’re going to do so much good, Zuko. Once you get through to your ministers… you’re going to change the world.”

Zuko has no idea how to respond, so he doesn’t. He just sits there, red and completely caught off guard by her words. Mai looks vaguely amused.

“Thank you,” says Zuko softly. He pauses. “I missed you more than anything while I was in Ba Sing Se. I thought about you every day.”

“Me, too,” Mai says, equally as quiet.

Something in Zuko’s chest sparks like lightning. They make eye contact, and Zuko knows that Mai felt the same thing. They sit there, looking at each other.

“I think I’m going to take a break,” says Zuko, breaking the silence. Mai smirks.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Meet me in my room in an hour?”

“Ten minutes.”

“You’re on.”

\---

Now that they’re on speaking terms again, Mai forces Zuko to sit down at dinner with her. They’re sitting in the smallest dining room, just the two of them at the front of a hilariously large table with a plate of food each in front of them. Zuko told his guards to stay outside of the room for some semblance of a private meal, so it’s just the two of them in the room.

“You haven’t touched anything on your plate,” notes Mai. “You can’t make up an excuse about not having time to eat this time. You’re already here.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat. You can’t work if you don’t eat.”

Zuko squints at her. Mai responds by opening her mouth and making a show of eating her rice.

With a sigh, Zuko picks up his chopsticks and starts pushing food around his plate. At the sharp, expectant look on Mai’s face, he reluctantly picks up a piece of meat and puts it in his mouth.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Very,” she says.

Zuko rolls his eyes as Mai smiles. He looks back down at his plate, continuing to push the food around as he chews. There’s something slightly off about the taste that he can’t quite put his finger on.

A flash of red catches his eye. He pokes aside his rice to get a better look and finds there to be a little red phoenix painted in the center of the white plate. 

Odd. The palace has never used decorative plates, not even when he was a kid.

Unfamiliar taste for a familiar dish. A phoenix on a plate.

The two pieces click together in his head.

Zuko stiffens. Mai doesn’t miss it.

“Zuko…?”

“Don’t freak out,” he says, before turning his head, jabbing his fingers in his mouth, and throwing up off of the side of the table.

Mai jumps up to her feet, yanking Zuko’s chair away from the table and helping him down to the ground. He coughs up his food, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he thinks that he hears Mai shout something, because then the doors are bursting open and there are guards in the room.

“What happened?” Eiji asks bewilderedly.

“The food,” Zuko manages, and _shit_ , his throat hurts like hell. “Check-- check Mai’s food. I think-- poison.”

There’s a great deal of cursing as someone rushes off to get the palace doctor. Mai’s hand stays resting on his back, keeping him tethered to reality as the doctor rushes into the room carrying what Zuko can only assume to be supplies to test for poison.

There’s a brief silence.

“Well?” Mai asks, tone impatient but tinged with anxiety. Zuko’s eyes are closed, head still tilted to the ground, so he doesn’t see the look on her face. But he knows what she looks like: eyebrows drawn together, lower lip tugged in slightly, eyes narrowed. “What is it? What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

“It’s a good thing that he threw up as soon as he did,” the doctor says gruffly. “He was right. It was poison.”

“How did he know?” Akira’s voice asks.

“Tasted funny,” rasps Zuko. “Phoenix on the plate. It-- Ozai.”

There’s a scraping sound from above, like someone’s picked up the plate. The sound is deafeningly loud in the silence.

“What about Mai?” Zuko asks, when it becomes clear that no one is going to say anything. Mai’s hand presses so hard on his back that it hurts a little.

“You can’t be serious,” she says. “You’re worried about _me_ right now? Are you sincerely insane?”

“Lady Mai’s food was not poisoned,” says the doctor, and Zuko finally allows himself to relax. “Your Majesty, I would suggest resting for the remainder of the night. I will give you the antidote to this poison, and you should take it with a drink for sleeping that I’ll provide as well.”

“I’m fine,” Zuko says, shaking his head. Mai scoffs behind him.

“I’ll make sure that he rests,” she says. Zuko turns his head to face her at last, opening his eyes just to glare at her. She isn’t looking at him, though, and his expression falters when he sees the pure fear on her face.

“I’m okay,” he says, quieter this time, just for Mai. She looks at him. “Seriously. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

"You almost died,” says Mai, her voice quivering slightly. “You would’ve--”

She breaks off, eyes closing. When she opens them, she fixes the guards surrounding them with a cold, hard look.

“I’m taking the Fire Lord back to his chambers,” she says in a clear, steady voice. “I don’t want anyone to disturb him until tomorrow morning.”

Zuko grabs Mai’s arm, and she stands up, helping to pull him to his feet. Zuko looks at his guards.

“Eiji, Akira,” he says, and the two immediately straighten up. “Question everyone who came into this room or the kitchens today. I want you two to lead interrogations.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” says Akira. “Would you like any of us to escort you back to your room?”

“No,” Mai says, before Zuko can speak. “I’ll take him.”

Zuko gives her a quizzical look, but he doesn’t say anything as his guards bow, exiting the room. He turns to face her fully once the door is shut behind the doctor’s retreating back.

“What was that all about?” he asks.

“You can’t seriously think that you can trust your guards,” she says, slipping an arm around him to support his weight. They walk out of the dining room together. “They’re as suspect as the kitchen staff.”

“I honestly don’t care about that part,” says Zuko tiredly, and Mai turns on him sharply. He doesn’t react, continuing to walk, even though he can feel Mai’s eyes burning into him. “It was expected. I have work to do, anyways, and an assassination attempt is the least of my worries at this point.”

Mai is silent for so long that Zuko is pretty sure she’s thinking of ways to kill him on the spot, though he can’t think for the life of him what he could’ve said to upset her. They reach his chambers, and she lets go of him to face him.

“You,” she says, and Zuko is alarmed to find that her voice is shaking, “are the most selfish fucking bastard I’ve ever met.”

She storms into his room. Zuko stares after her.

“Mai!” he shouts. He hurries into the room, nearly knocking over two tiny bottles that sit on top of a precariously positioned pile of books on his desk with how quickly he’s walking. The doctor must’ve sent in the antidote and the sleeping medicine just now.

Mai is standing beside his bed, arms folded. She doesn't look at him, even as he uncaps the antidote and spills it into his mouth. He leaves the sleeping medicine untouched.

“Mai,” Zuko tries again, but he falters as her eyes go to him.

“I thought you--” She breaks off. “When we were talking in the library this morning, I genuinely thought that you were being serious. I thought you really were sorry. I’m not doubting that you forgot to tell me, but now I’m wondering how much of the truth you were telling.”

“What are you--”

“Would you have told me about this?” Mai snaps. “If I wasn’t there, would you have told me what happened?”

“Of course I--”

“You just told me,” she says, and her throat bobs as she swallows, “that you don’t care. You told me that you don’t care about future assassins because they’re bound to come back. You said that it wasn’t a priority to figure out who did it because you have too much work to do. Do you value your life at all? Do you value _me_ at all?”

“Of course, Mai, I--”

“How could you just _forget_ to tell me what happened in Ba Sing Se?” Mai shouts, her voice breaking. “How is that even _possible?_ I thought that you were being serious at first, but after seeing this? How can you forget about something like that? I’m never going to be able to erase the sight of you on the ground, your--”

Mai’s voice hitches. She closes her eyes. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides, trembling. She doesn’t cry, but her shoulders are shaking like she’s trying not to.

She doesn’t say anything else.

“Mai,” says Zuko softly. “Shit, I’m-- fuck. I didn’t--”

“Didn’t mean to?” Mai asks hollowly, an echo of what she’d said all of those months ago at Boiling Rock. She opens her eyes. “I don’t understand, Zuko. How can you not care about the fact that you have had two assassination attempts mere days apart from each other?”

“It just isn’t important,” says Zuko. “Not in comparison to everything else that’s happening. My life isn’t as important as what needs to be done for the nation. I don’t have _time_ to figure out who put poison in my food. Besides, I didn’t die, and it’s going to happen again, anyways, so what does it matter?”

Zuko is forcibly reminded of the expression on Uncle’s face when he said something similar to him after the assassination attempt in Ba Sing Se. Mai’s expression would be exactly the same, filled with shock and hurt and sadness, if not for the anger blazing in her eyes.

“It matters because you’re not the only one who’s affected by this!” shouts Mai. Her voice rings throughout the room, reverberating off of the walls. “You’re so-- Spirits, Zuko, you’re so fucking selfish that it makes me _sick_ . You didn’t even _think_ about me after you got hurt in Ba Sing Se, did you? You probably brushed off the assassination attempt, did some half-assed investigation, and went on your way. You didn’t think it was a big deal, so you didn’t tell me.”

When Zuko doesn’t respond, Mai’s eyes widen slightly.

“Is that what it was?” she asks quietly, her voice dangerously low. “You didn’t think it was important?”

Zuko doesn’t say anything.

“Zuko,” she says. “Tell me.”

“I got it handled,” he says, and the words feel like they’re being pulled out of his throat, “so I didn’t think that you would need to know about it. I didn’t think-- I didn’t think you would’ve cared.”

Zuko isn’t looking at Mai as he says this, but she’s silent for so long that he forces himself to look up from where his eyes have drifted to the floor.

She’s still not crying. But for the anguish in her eyes, she might as well be.

“Of course I would’ve cared,” she practically spits. “How could you even say that? I’m-- I _love_ you, Zuko. Why would you-- How badly do you think of me to think that?”

“I don’t think badly of you,” Zuko says quickly. “I don’t. I promise. I didn’t-- That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” she asks hollowly. It’s clear that she doesn’t believe him.

“I--” Zuko drops his head. He knows he’s not going to help his case with his next words. “I can’t talk about this, Mai. Not now.”

“I think you have to.”

The room is dark. So dark. There isn’t even a candle lit, but Zuko can still see every detail in Mai’s face, the parts obscured in shadow filled in by his own memory, and he hates the image that projects itself in his mind. He hates that he’s the one who’s put that expression on her face.

“Look, I just…” Zuko swallows, hard. “You’re going to think of me as weak.”

“You’re not weak.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know _you._ ”

“Do you?” Zuko asks loudly, defensively, _seizing_ the chance to be angry because it’s the only thing he knows how to be with confidence. He thinks back to the conversation that he’d had with Mai this morning, what she’d said about how they would fuck up again, and it feels so far away that he can hardly believe it happened only a few hours ago. He can’t believe that it’s only taken this long for them to fight again.

“I do,” Mai shoots back. “I know that you still sneak into the kitchens to steal bread to feed the turtleducks even though you’re the Fire Lord and can do whatever the hell you want now. I know that you like to sit by the pond with them because it reminds you of your mother, and I know that you’re only researching the Fire Nation’s medical system and psychiatric history because you feel like you’ve failed Azula.”

“Shut up,” snarls Zuko.

“I know that you miss your uncle, but you don’t talk to him because you’re protecting him,” she continues, unrelenting. “I know that you’re not just avoiding sleeping and eating because of work--”

“Mai--”

“--it’s because you still have nightmares and can’t forget the feeling of an empty stomach from when you were a refugee. I know that you still wake up in the middle of the night with your scar hurting, and I know that you hate looking in mirrors because you think you look like your father, and I know that you’re scared to fucking _death_ of becoming him--”

“ _Stop it!”_

There’s a flash of light, lighting up the dark room in a burst of flame. Mai breaks off, eyes wide. It takes Zuko a moment to realize that he’s not only grabbing his chair to support himself, but he’s also nearly incinerated the top of it.

He lets go. Ashes stain his hands as the wood crumbles without his grip to support it.

“Shit,” Zuko says quietly, his voice much too loud in the heavy silence. Regret pulses through him. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Mai says, equally as quiet. Her tone has suddenly closed off, holding a familiar coldness that has become rarer and rarer each day. But it’s here, now, and more guarded than ever. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone that far. I forgot myself.”

“It’s okay.”

Another silence.

“I’m going to go to the baths,” says Zuko. “I’ll be back. I don’t want to go to bed with the taste of vomit in my mouth.”

“I’m not kissing you like that, either.”

Mai says it quietly, cautiously, just a hint of a question somewhere in there. The ice has thawed a little from her tone. Zuko answers it with a soft, careful smile.

“You still would,” he says.

“Go take a bath, you idiot. I’ll be here when you come back.”

True to her word, when Zuko comes back, hair wet from the bath and his mouth finally clean, she’s lying on her side of the bed, blankets pulled up over her body. She lifts her head when he climbs in on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” she says when Zuko’s settled in beside her. “I went way too far. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Zuko says. “I should’ve told you.”

“You should’ve. But I shouldn’t have pushed as hard as I did.”

“Probably not.”

“Just… I do want to know, though. Why you didn’t tell me about the assassination attempt. Why you forgot. I think I deserve to.”

Zuko lets the silence linger. His eyes close. “Can we just-- go to bed? I don’t think I want to talk about this right now.”

Mai is silent. For a moment, Zuko thinks that she’s going to push again, and he doesn’t think that he’ll be able to say no to her.

“Okay,” she says instead. “But we should talk about this eventually.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

\---

It’s not exactly _awkward_ in the following week. But it’s not comfortable, either.

Zuko spends all of his time either in the council room or at his desk, constantly surrounded by papers and scrolls and books, hands always stained with ink. Mai brings him food, sometimes, and she always promises that she watched the cooks make it before bringing it to him when he hesitates. And he always hesitates.

But he trusts her, even if things are weird between them. So he’ll take a few bites, enough to satisfy her into leaving, and then he’ll shove the plate aside and get back to work.

His main goal, right now, is to make sure that soldiers returning home get the proper, humane treatment that they need at hospitals all over the nation. Fire Nation medical care in the physical sense is fairly advanced, but there is almost nothing on the mind or anything psychological, meaning that psychiatric institutions are severely lacking in management and proper care for patients.

It’s not good, especially when they’re just coming out of a war with ships full of traumatized soldiers. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of soldiers coming home with severe injuries to the body and to the mind, and he doesn’t want to see any of them end up like Azula, strapped to a bed without the sun, bruises decorating too-pale skin and bones jutting out in her face.

But-- _fuck._ There’s so much work to do. He’s sorting through laws to abolish and laws to keep all while arguing with his ministers and trying not to fire them all on the spot, because some of them are still denying that the war has ended. They’re all blatantly disrespecting him to the point that it’s honestly insulting how stupid they think he is.

He fires Minister Yu for raising taxes against his knowledge and for pocketing said tax money for himself, both of which he did right under Zuko’s nose, like he wouldn’t notice. He also finally ends up dismissing General Liu for his failure to withdraw his troops, disobeying direct orders. Both men were almost certainly Ozai loyalists, so there’s nothing lost there.

He’s also pretty sure that General Liu was involved in the attempt on his life back in Ba Sing Se, but he has no way to prove it. This will have to do.

“You’re firing anyone that you disagree with,” protests Minister Hirano when Zuko announces Yu’s dismissal. “You are setting yourself up for failure, Fire Lord.”

“If I was firing anyone I disagreed with,” Zuko says testily, “then none of you would be in this room at this moment. You all are operating under the assumption that Ozai will be back. I can assure you that he will not be. We are entering a different age for the Fire Nation. You can accept it or you can hand in your resignation to me. I will process it with Yu’s.”

He almost wishes that his ministers weren’t all such cowards so that they would quit. He’s doing more work than he should by making sure that they don’t try something behind his back.

He’s tired. But he still can’t sleep.

\---

Aang is the first one to send a letter. His first one arrives about two weeks after Ba sing Se.

He sounds like he’s doing well. Zuko can hear Aang’s smiles in every sentence, his cheerful laughter and bright quips. The letter is two pages long, written clumsily in Fire, and Zuko is reminded forcibly of the fact that although Aang may be verbally fluent in the four main languages, Zuko has not once seen him write in anything but Air. He’s both touched and saddened that he’s made this effort.

_Toph joined me yesterday,_ Aang says about halfway down the third paragraph, right after a long account of a near-death experience with some Earth Kingdom troops who mistook him for a Fire Nation soldier (which is concerning on more than a few levels). _She ran away again. I didn’t ask her why. She seems really bad right now. I’m worried about her. I’m giving her space, but I don’t think she wants to talk at all._

_Tell her that she’s welcome to stay with me if she needs,_ Zuko writes. _There’s no place safer for her from her parents than the Fire Nation. They might be able to charge you with kidnapping, but they can’t do that to the Fire Lord._

There’s a letter from Sokka that comes about a week after Aang’s. This one is, annoyingly, written in Southern Water, and despite being relatively fluent in the language, it takes Zuko a frustratingly long time to parse through his words.

_You need practice in reading Southern Water,_ Sokka says in the very first sentence. _Suck it, you monolingual, imperialistic jerkbender._

_Your handwriting is terrible,_ Zuko responds. _Also, I definitely k_ _now more languages than you, Water Tribe peasant._

Katara’s letter, which arrives two days after Sokka’s, is much more informative and thankfully written in Fire.

_I’m in the Northern Water Tribe with Sokka right now,_ she says. _I think I’m going to take over as the ambassador for now. I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but knocking the sexism out of these people sounds like a good start to me. Besides, Chief Arnook likes me more than Sokka. I’m pretty sure that Sokka will be joining Aang and Toph once I take over._

The last sentence is confirmed by a letter from Toph that she seems to have dictated to Sokka himself, mercifully written in Earth.

_Sokka’s my scribe,_ she says by way of greeting. _Also, thanks for offering to let me stay in the Fire Nation. You’re probably the one person that my parents wouldn’t be able to touch. I’ll think about it._

Zuko keeps every single one of their letters. He writes back as often as he can.

He doesn’t tell any of them about the assassination attempt.

\---

A member of Zuko’s personal guard is found with a sample of the same poison that had been slipped into the food. It’s not out of the question that she might’ve been the one to allow the assassin on board back in Ba Sing Se.

Zuko questions her himself. The rest of his guards, Eiji and Akira included, are being interrogated separately.

“You nearly destroyed our nation,” the woman snarls, her dark hair falling in tangled clumps around her face. It reminds him, painfully, of Azula. “You’re going to, at this rate.”

“You’re loyal to Ozai,” says Zuko.

“I’m loyal to anyone who knows what they’re doing,” snaps the woman. “You don’t. You have been away for far too long, Prince Zuko. The people are not too happy about your mistake in Ba Sing Se. You don’t know the first thing about politics or the Fire Nation.”

“I saw the phoenix on the plate,” Zuko says, causing the woman’s eyebrows to raise slightly. “What organization are you working from?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You will if you value your life.”

“You’re too cowardly to kill me. Too weak.”

Zuko lifts his chin, eyes narrowing as he looks down on her. “Are you willing to test that theory?”

(He won’t kill her. But Aang has shown him that that isn’t a weakness, so he doesn’t react to her jibe, one that felt too pointed, too personal, to have been unintentionally phrased.)

The woman scoffs. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if you could step up and do your damn job correctly. The first time that I saw you, the only thing I could think of was how much you looked like your father. You might not have his cruelty, but your utter incompetence is impossible to overlook. I don’t want a boy who nearly bankrupted his nation on the throne. You’re the Avatar’s puppet, always doing what he asks you to do, even if it comes at the expense of your country--”

“Watch your mouth,” Zuko says sharply, loudly. His voice cuts the woman off slightly, but she doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. In fact, it looks like she was expecting it.

“Just take me to prison already,” the woman says, shaking her head. The chains rattle with the movement. “You’ll be off the throne in less than a year, anyways. I guarantee it.”

“You’re going to answer my questions, first.”

The woman meets his gaze. “I was the one who put the poison in your food,” she says. “I acted alone, but there are more of us out there. I am not loyal to Ozai. I am loyal to the Fire Nation. There is much more opposition to your rule than just those who were loyal to your father. Does that satisfy you, Prince Zuko?”

“Were you the one to let the assassin on my ship in Ba Sing Se?”

“Yes. Anything else?”

“What,” Zuko says from between gritted teeth, “is the name of the organization that you are working from? You may think me incompetent, but I saw the phoenix on the plate. There’s no way that you were able to do this entirely on your own.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the woman says with a sharp smile.

There’s a silence.

“What are you hiding?” Zuko asks softly, mostly to himself.

“I have nothing to hide from you,” the woman says. “I no longer have anything to lose, either. All I want is to see the Fire Nation returned to glory. The war might not have given that to us, but you’re doing far worse.”

Zuko looks into her eyes. She lifts her chin, meeting his gaze firmly.

He knows that look. He knows it because he’s worn it, worn it in front of Ozai, and the fact that he is now the one on the receiving end of this expression makes him sick to his stomach.

Zuko clasps his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. He turns on the ball of his foot, his crown feeling a little too weighted on his head as he storms out of the room.

\---

Zuko hasn’t visited Azula in a long time.

The thought occurs to him as he’s bent over a pile of scrolls, the ink burning into his eyes in the flickering light of the candle, having skipped dinner for what must be the fourth day in a row. He thinks back to Azula, how alarmingly underweight she appeared when he saw her, lacking the muscle and the healthy fill to her cheeks before everything happened. She looked better at the prison, too - did they feed her at all at the institution?

If they weren’t before, they definitely are now. But he’ll have to make time to visit just in case.

The door opens without a knock or a notice from his guards, and Zuko jumps up to his feet, quickly assuming a fighting stance. He relaxes when he sees Mai standing there with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh,” he says. He walks over to her, wrapping her into a hug.

“Hi,” she says. “What are you up to?”

Zuko gestures at his desk. “I’m working on a proposal for legislation that would provide better care from the government to returning soldiers,” he says. “And for veterans, too. That includes updating guidelines for hospitals. Did you know that there have _never_ been guidelines for psychiatric institutions? Ever?”

“Zuko--”

“I didn’t. It’s no wonder that Azula was the way that she was when I came back. It wouldn’t have happened if I knew--”

“Zuko.”

Zuko breaks off. Mai’s hands are on his chest.

“Listen to me,” she says. “Azula’s situation is not your fault. Not in the slightest.”

“I haven’t even visited her--”

“Listen,” she insists. “You’re busy. You have other obligations. It’s fine to feel guilty about Azula’s situation, but you shouldn’t have to do all of _this_ to make up for it.”

“It’s not just for her,” says Zuko. “I mean, it’s a large part of why I’m so invested, but that’s mostly because I had no idea how bad the treatment of patients was until I saw what they’d done to her. I promise I’m not punishing myself. I promise.”

Mai meets his eyes, seeming to sense the intensity in his voice.

“Alright,” she says. “I believe you.”

She goes straight to the bed, pulling out a knife to fiddle with as she lies down. There’s something pointed about her silence, something odd about the way she walked into his room in the first place, that stops Zuko from returning back to his work.

“You have something to tell me,” says Zuko. Mai nods. Zuko waits.

“Are we not going to talk about the other night?” she asks quietly, and Zuko stills.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You know what I mean,” she says. “We keep putting the conversation off. It’s not healthy. We need to be open with each other.”

“Right, because you’re the expert on being open,” snaps Zuko, then immediately regrets it.

But Mai doesn’t sit up, doesn’t glare at him. She just sighs.

“We’re doing it again,” she says. “I’m trying to stop us from falling into those habits. Can you help me out here, Zuko? I love you. Do you know that? Because sometimes, I don’t think that you do.”

Zuko stays quiet.

“Okay,” Mai says tiredly. “We don’t have to talk about it. We’ll just… leave it alone.”

“Alright,” says Zuko, a sigh escaping from between his lips as the fight drains out of him. “I’m… I’m sorry. You know that, right? I really am.”

“I know,” says Mai, but there’s no emotion in her tone. She just sounds… drained. “I know, Zuko. I know.”

Neither of them look at each other.

“I came here,” she says, so quietly that Zuko never would’ve heard her if the room wasn’t so painfully quiet, "to tell you that I'm going to go visit my family. It’s not… It’s not because of us. I just think I should spend some time with them right now.”

It’s a blatant lie.

“How long will you be gone?” he asks instead of voicing the thoughts swimming in his head, the pain that her words have caused him. When Mai speaks, it is without emotion, with that distance that he should be used to by now.

"A few weeks. I'm not sure yet."

Zuko’s eyes close. “This isn’t a breakup, is it?”

“No,” Mai says, and she says it with such force that Zuko believes her completely. “It’s not. Just… I think I need some space. I think we both do.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“We’ll be okay, right?” asks Zuko, hating how small his voice sounds. “This isn’t-- It’s not a break, either. We’re just--”

“Just taking a breath,” finishes Mai. “It’s not a break. I’m just visiting family.”

_Right._

When Zuko climbs into bed beside her at last, blowing out the candle before he does, she turns towards him, opening her arms up. He falls into them immediately, and she wraps him up in a tight embrace, and Zuko can almost forget that their conversation, their arguments, ever happened at all. He turns so that her body presses up against his back, and her arm drapes over his waist, chin nestled where his neck meets his shoulder.

They fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wait wait wait before anyone says Anything: Mai and Zuko are not trying to hurt each other. It's the exact opposite, actually. They're both trying so hard not to hurt each other that they're achieving the exact opposite. But here's the thing - they still love each other, and they're both trying really hard to make this work. They're both teenagers, in the end, and it's both of their first times in such a serious relationship, so they're bound to fuck up a _lot _when it comes to each other. Mai is hurt that Zuko is withholding information from her (keeping secrets, and she hates that), and Zuko is torn because he's still coming to terms with what weakness even means in the first place and that sharing his insecurities/emotions does not make him weak.__
> 
> __Is it obvious that I don't tend to write romance? Ugh. I really don't know what to think about this chapter. I hope you enjoyed, though._ _
> 
> __Anyways. The next few chapters are going to be so much better!! Are you ready for Zuko's steadily declining mental state? Because it's time for Zuko's steadily declining mental state. Is it really a spoiler if everyone knew it was coming?_ _
> 
> __come bother me on[Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)_ _


	14. on the brink / over the edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters, politics, assassination attempts, and general suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!!!
> 
> This chapter made me re-outline this entire transitional arc. I hate it here--
> 
> Do I know if this one is good? Honestly, I think I checked out completely halfway through writing it (this week was pretty shit tbh). I have no opinion on it. I don't know if it's good or bad, so I'm kind of nervous about posting this. More nervous than usual.
> 
> I know I say this every single time, but this one is heavy. It gets really into Zuko's headspace, and Zuko's headspace is Not Fun for anyone. The draft title for this one was "zuko! use self destruct!" and honestly? That's a better summary than the one I wrote. I mean, really. What did you think would happen with Zuko left all alone to his own thoughts in the palace? Not good things, that's for sure.
> 
> There isn't a whole lot of dialogue in this chapter since Mai is gone. Still, interesting things happen. I hope they're interesting, at least.
> 
> CW: violence, suicidal thoughts (subtle subtle subtle, but still there), general self-hatred, not eating/sleeping (does that count as a CW? I'm putting it in just in case)

_Dear Uncle Iroh,_

_I’m sorry that I didn’t get back to you sooner. Things have been happening. Nothing too serious; don’t worry. It’s just been a little eventful lately. And yes, Uncle. Everything is fine. You don’t need to ask every time._

_Did that customer you mentioned last time finally pay the full bill? I would think that Upper Ring residents would pay more, but… come to think of it, I don’t think that our family paid much attention to the bill when we went out. I guess nobility is nobility, wherever you go. Maybe that job working as a tea server wasn’t so bad, after all, if it taught me common decency._

_The weather is getting colder with the approaching winter. For once, I’m actually grateful for how stifling my regalia is. I’m hoping to visit the Earth Kingdom soon for a continuation on the discussion of the colonies Kuei and I had to put off, but I don’t know when that will be. He’s not responding to any of my correspondence to him, though that could just be because of what Azula and I did to his city all of those months ago. I’m a little worried, but not enough to draw too much attention to it._

_Anyways, there’s talk of more negotiations being planned. Chief Arnook wants the world leaders to gather in the North Pole for more in-depth discussions. I’m not sure what he has in mind, but it sounds like he’s aiming for it to happen sometime in early spring. We have several months between now and then, but I’m glad that he gave such early notice. The negotiations that I arranged with those Earth Kingdom delegates ended up being ridiculously short notice, and I’m still-_

_Shoot. I’m sorry. I always end up bringing up politics in our letters. It’s all that’s been on my mind lately. Sorry._

_I miss your tea. Is it possible to send hot tea by messenger hawk? You know I like jasmine the best. I can’t wait to have it again the next time I see you._

_Your nephew,_

_Zuko_

\---

Zuko wakes up to a sword at his throat.

_You have got to be kidding me._

“Can this wait?” he finds himself asking tiredly. “This is the first time I’ve slept in days. I really would rather do this another time.”

Ridiculously, the first thing that his mind goes to is _Mai._ But she isn’t there, as the cold spot of mattress beside him so firmly reminds him, and there’s an assassin standing over him with a blade and a black cloth hiding their face.

He’s been having somehow even more trouble sleeping since Mai left, so of course the one time that he actually manages to fall asleep it is the time that a fucking _assassin_ creeps into his room to try and kill him. He’s far more pissed than terrified.

“I’m sorry that I cannot give you that luxury,” the person above him says. “All hail Phoenix King Ozai.”

The sword lifts, silver catching in the moonlight. And Zuko moves.

It doesn’t seem like the assassin was prepared for him to actually fight back, much like the first assassin in Ba Sing Se. She stumbles backwards, sword clattering away, as Zuko rolls off of the bed into a fighting stance and punches her in the face. She shouts in pain, fumbling for the sword as she clutches her cheek, and makes a clumsy swipe in the air with the blade in Zuko’s general direction. Zuko sidesteps and sweeps her leg out from under her, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he picks up the sword and points it at the assassin’s chin.

“You’re an Ozai loyalist,” he says, but there’s no emotion in it. No curiosity, no anger. He’s stating what he already knows.

“Perhaps,” says the assassin. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No. I’m going to imprison you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No interrogations?”

Zuko sighs heavily, touching his forehead. “I already know that you’re an Ozai loyalist,” he says tersely. “I don’t need to know anything else. Thanks for waking me up. Guards!”

“Interesting,” the assassin muses as the doors burst open, the night guards rushing into the room. “You don’t even want to know what organization I come from? Who I’m working for? When the next person will be coming?”

“Not particularly,” says Zuko flatly, stepping aside to let one of the guards lock handcuffs on the woman. “It’s been an inconvenience at most. But, by all means, feel free to tell me.”

“Oh, I’ll wait. I’m sure you’ll find out eventually.”

Zuko lowers the sword as she’s pulled to her feet by two of the guards. “Have fun in prison,” he says without enthusiasm. The woman laughs.

“Wow,” she says, not bothering to disguise her mirth. “They were right. You really _don’t_ value your life. I’m beginning to wonder if we’re doing you a favor by trying to kill you.”

“Get her out of here,” Zuko says to the guards, who nod and drag the woman out of the room. One of them casts a curious glance over his shoulder at him, but one look at the blank expression on Zuko’s face sends them turning back around quickly.

Zuko is left alone in the room again. He thinks, briefly, that at least one of his guards ought to have stayed behind in the room with him to make sure that another assassin doesn’t kill him. But there are only two guards outside, none inside, and Zuko is honestly too tired to care at this point.

He doesn’t go back to sleep, though. One look at his bed, and he instantly knows that he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep. Instead, he walks over to his desk, slumping in his chair and staring at the papers in front of him.

He glances at the window, opened with the curtains fluttering, and something in him registers that that must’ve been where the assassin came from. He stands up to close the window, shivering a little in the autumn night air, the kind that comes just before winter begins, too cold for bare skin but still too warm for thick clothes. His eyes catch on the tall profile of the prison, far from the palace but close enough that he can see the glimmer of light from the guard tower.

He turns away from the window, sits back down at his desk, and works.

\---

_To Your Lord Fieriness (and Royal Jerkbender),_

_I have to get this out to someone because everyone else here already knows about it, and I really need to talk about this to someone, so-- okay, okay. LISTEN._

_Katara is on a_ roll, _Zuko. Seriously. Tui and La, she’s a menace. Aang wanted to stop by the North Pole after the Northern Air Temple because he and Katara are disgusting, and she’s-- spirits, Zuko, I don’t even know how to put it into words. She’s an incredible ambassador. Did you know that the Northern Water Tribe doesn’t allow women to talk during those stupid political meetings? They were_ appalled _when they found out that Katara’s ambassador duties would require her to actually talk in front of them. She ripped them all a new one. She’s advocating for teaching women combat, even the non-benders, and obviously extending waterbending training beyond healing to female waterbenders._

_Is she overstepping the bounds of ambassadorship? Maybe. Is that stopping her? Absolutely not. You know Katara._

_If you tell her that I spent a paragraph talking about how scary-impressive she is, I’m going to dethrone you._

_Eh. Actually, the Fire Nation is way too hot for me. You can keep your stupid throne and your stupid crown. But only because I let you._

_How are things in the Fire Nation, by the way? We don’t get much news about you all up here, especially since we’re constantly traveling. I’ll probably stop bothering you about this once we hit the Earth Kingdom, but for now, you’re my only news source for all of the dramatic stuff happening in the Fire Nation. You keep saying that nothing is happening, but I’m dying for literally anything outside of Aang’s rambles about Katara. It can even be a story about one of your stupid turtleducks. Please._

_To address your question in the last letter you sent… I’m actually not really sure how to answer that. Toph isn’t doing too well. She’s really lashing out at us and is getting way more pissed than usual. Thank the spirits she can’t read, because she’d probably murder me if she ever read this, but I’m really really worried about her. I know Aang probably brought this up to you a few weeks ago when he first wrote, but we’re all kind of scared. I’ve never seen her like this before. If we end up stopping by the Fire Nation before the Earth Kingdom, don’t be too surprised._

_Aang is doing great, by the way. He’s helped me figure out what to say for a few things in this letter_ (Hello, Sifu Hotman! Appa and Momo say hi!). _Yeah, yeah. Sorry about the ink splotch. That was Aang when he snatched the brush RIGHT OUT OF MY HANDS._

_Hope you’re doing okay. Write back soon - I know you’re holding back in some of your letters. Or are you just that awkward? You haven’t gotten more awkward since Ba Sing Se, have you?_

_Yours,_

_Sokka, swordmaster and boomerang guy_

\---

Beginning to reform the medical system is turning out to be way more work than Zuko had anticipated. He needs a team. Badly.

The problem is that he can’t get a team without getting his plans through to his ministers, and in the half-baked state that his ideas are, they’d laugh in his face before giving him their official denial. The other problem is that he has no idea what to do with all of the research that he’s done.

He can’t very well walk up to his ministers and ask that they do all of the work for him, either. Ozai might’ve been able to get away with something like that, what with his experience and general inclination towards extreme power displays, but there’s no way that they’ll accept it with Zuko. Not unless he engages in an extreme power display, and there’s no way that he’ll scare his ministers into doing something he wants.

He’s alone in the council room, slumped forward, head buried in his hands. He’s not sure how long he’s sat there since his ministers left, breathing slowly into his palms as he ignores the slight tremble in his chest, eyes closed, but the sun set long ago.

Nothing is getting done. Zuko has been on the throne for months now, but nothing has gotten done since Ba Sing Se. Nothing substantial, at least, nothing that helps the Fire Nation, because his ministers are fighting him tooth and nail on every decision he tries to make, from trade routes to taxes, reform to tradition, and he can’t-- he can’t. They’re at a constant stand-off, and Zuko would rather die than be the one to back off, because too much depends on him. He’s frustrated, he’s angry, and he wants to fire all of his ministers, but he can’t.

He’s wasting his time, he knows, but there’s no way around it.

“Your Majesty?”

Zuko looks up. Eiji stands above him, looking slightly concerned. Zuko quickly straightens back up.

“Yes?”

“We interrogated the assassin,” he says. “She told us the name of the organization that she is working for. The New Ozai Society. Their symbol is the phoenix.”

Unsurprising. Zuko says as much, and Eiji smiles slightly.

“She, unfortunately, was disinclined to tell us anything more than that,” he says. “Given your new policies on torturing - or lack thereof, now, I suppose - Captain Huang doubts that we will get anything more than that.”

“Imprison her,” says Zuko. “There’s no point in trying any further if that’s the case. I trust your captain’s judgement. Dismissed.”

But Eiji doesn’t move. He stays for a moment, rocking on the balls of his feet slightly, as though teetering on the edge of speaking. Zuko looks at him.

“Yes?” he asks again.

Eiji clears his throat. “Um, sir. It’s really late, and I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t eat dinner today. Or lunch. Or breakfast. Or… anything, sir. When was the last time that you ate, Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko leans against his hand, pressing his palm into his temple. “It doesn’t matter,” he says a little too sharply. “You should go. I’m sure Captain Huang is waiting for you to return. Dismissed.”

“Fire Lord--”

_“Dismissed.”_

Eiji hesitates for just a moment before his lips press into a thin line. He bows, but not before he sets a wrapped bundle on the table just a few inches away from Zuko’s hand. He walks out of the room, and the doors shut quietly behind him.

Zuko pauses for just a moment before curiosity overtakes him. He opens the bundle and finds three rice cakes stacked neatly on top of one another. It reminds him of Ba Sing Se, of Sokka’s comment about Mai, and he finds himself smiling for no real reason. He starts to reach for the top rice cake, but then his eyes catch on the white powder on the top, and his hand freezes.

 _It’s rice flour,_ the logical part of his brain says. _They wouldn’t poison something so obviously._

 _Right,_ the other part of his brain says, the part that let Mai go and sent Eiji away, the part that’s censoring his letters and repeating _nothing much is happening here_ so often that he’s starting to convince himself that it’s true, _but what if they did?_

Bile floods Zuko’s mouth. He pushes the rice cakes away, stomach suddenly clenching in nausea at the memory of himself crouched on the floor, lips slick with vomit and lungs tight from breathing so hard.

_Not worth it._

The funny thing, Zuko thinks to himself dryly as he pushes himself away from the desk, gathering his work into his arms and exiting the council room, is that even though he’s back in the palace, plenty of food available to him, he feels like he’s an Earth Kingdom refugee all over again. Wandering the desert with a clenched stomach, throat dry and head pounding.

But this is self-inflicted. That hadn’t been. Does the cause matter if the end result is the same?

With a horrible jolt, Zuko realizes that he’s broken his promise to Aang about a hundred times already.

… Maybe the cause does matter.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, too quiet for his guards to hear.

But Aang will understand, he reasons. He isn’t eating because he’s worried about an assassination attempt. Aang wouldn’t want him to _die,_ after all, regardless of a promise that they made.

But the least he can do, Zuko decides, is try to actually get some sleep tonight.

Zuko nods at his guards as he enters his quarters, and they assume their positions by the doors. He sets his documents on the desk and takes off his crown, letting his top knot come loose and his hair fall around his face. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

At the angle that he’s standing at, he can only see the unscarred side of his face. He stands there, momentarily entranced, eyes tracing the sharp slice of his too-prominent cheekbones, the line of his jaw and the circles beneath his eyes, faded in the darkness. For a single, heart-stopping moment, the image of himself is replaced with Father.

Throat tightening, Zuko turns his head so that the scarred portion of his face is visible, and the illusion shatters at the sight of the burned flesh. He stares at the reflection, _his_ reflection.

A small, strangled laugh bubbles up in his chest. He’s finding comfort in his scar, a permanent mark of Ozai’s legacy on him, because it separates him from Ozai. Because it distinguishes Zuko from Ozai, Fire Lord from Phoenix King, son from father. And Ozai is the one who gave it to him in the first place.

Zuko closes his eyes, pressing his lips together against a horrible, twisted smile as he shakes his head, trying not to laugh.

Fuck. It really is funny, isn’t it?

He looks away from the mirror, forcing himself not to look at the papers on his desk, at the steadily mounting pile of books and scrolls staring at him. He hesitates for just a second too long.

_Do it for Aang._

He changes into sleeping robes, eyes snagging on the pink burst of burned skin in the center of his chest as he tosses the heavy silk of his regalia to the side (he’s flatly refused to allow anyone but Mai touch him, let alone change him, since becoming the Fire Lord, the top knot being the only thing he allows people to help him with), and collapses into bed.

He turns away from the window, allowing himself to finally feel his exhaustion, letting it wash over him like a soft, gentle tide submerging his head beneath the water.

But the tide turns into something stronger, a little rougher than it was before. Someone could be outside of his window, waiting to strike once he falls asleep. He might fall back into those nightmares that he had during the war and during his banishment, the ones with Father’s hand and an audience around them, the ones with a hand on his face and the pulse of his blood as it flooded desperately throughout his body. He could be spending this time doing literally anything else, changing the world, changing the Fire Nation, but he’s laying in bed instead, trying and failing to sleep, but he doesn’t _deserve_ to sleep right now, not when there are people to be helped and things to fix, not when Mai still hasn’t written and clearly hasn’t forgiven him, not when Mother is still missing, not when Azula is--

Zuko sits up, burying his face in his hands. There’s nothing but the thrum of his pulse in his ears and the dry sound of air being pulled from his throat and dragged back in.

He’s broken his promise to Aang enough times already. One more time can’t hurt, right?

Shit. Mai is going to kill him when she gets back. If she even bothers to come back at all - he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.

Pointedly ignoring the pounding of his head, he slides into the seat at his desk and gets back to work.

\---

Zuko very much regrets holding this meeting with his generals in the war room. 

He wants nothing more than to burn it to the ground. He hates the chair that he’s sitting on, the chair that he still sees as Ozai’s, hates how everyone keeps _just_ interrupting him, like they’re trying to see how far they can push him, and he hates the knowing smirks some of the generals are trading to one another as they keep talking over him, keep fighting, keep arguing for the sake of arguing because they know that they aren’t going to get anything productive done if they argue, and these _fucking_ generals want nothing more than to reverse the war’s end.

And many of the generals, if not all of them, were present the day that he was burned.

 _Burned_ makes it sound like nothing at all, though. It’s more _the day that half of his face got melted off_. But now he sits in the same chair that Ozai did that day, the only difference being the person on the throne and the lack of the wall of fire separating him from the generals. He wants to look them in the eye as they talk to him. The unintended benefit of that is that they don’t have a tangible representation of his flaring anger levels.

But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the same room that the 41st Division was sentenced to their deaths. The same room that Ozai and Azula planned to burn the Earth Kingdom down to the ground in. It is where Zuko spoke, where he didn’t, and where his life changed forever. Twice. He’d have it completely demolished and rebuilt if he could, but--

Wait. He can do that. He’s the Fire Lord.

The realization makes him almost stop listening (almost, because his generals would take any excuse to start the war again) to General Su’s third rant of the day on why ending the war would destroy their economy, a rant that has managed to divert every single topic that Zuko has attempted to discuss, and Zuko knows this, he knows this, _he knows this,_ knows it from personal experience, no less, so why won’t the man shut up? Zuko is the Fire Lord, not him.

Zuko could destroy this room with a wave of his hand if he wanted to. It’s a slightly sickening thought.

“--relies almost entirely on the war for its economic survival,” General Su is saying, practically shouting, and several of the generals are nodding in agreement. Zuko closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, because he has said this exact same thing about twenty times already. Still, he listens. “Almost all of the jobs in our nation revolve around the war effort! The manufacturing of weapons, of ships… And that isn’t to mention the soldiers, the colonies, the--”

“General Su,” Zuko says tiredly. “The war is already over. Please sit down.”

General Su opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. His jaw tightens as his teeth click together, mouth snapping shut as he pointedly takes a seat.

“Thank you.” Zuko turns his attention to the man sitting across from Su. “General Jiang. Before we got off topic, you mentioned that you received a report about soldiers r--”

“I would think that you would have more interest in this, Fire Lord Zuko,” General Su interrupts loudly.

_Agni have mercy._

Zuko turns his gaze to him, putting as much coldness into his stare as he can manage, but Su doesn’t flinch - he’s probably seen worse from Ozai.

“But considering that you nearly bankrupted the Fire Nation back in Ba Sing Se on the Avatar’s orders,” says General Su, lip curling into a sneer, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about where your loyalties lie.”

Zuko’s hands tighten on top of his thighs. “My loyalties,” he says from between gritted teeth, “lie with my country. They always have, they always will. But the war was hurting the Fire Nation as much as it was hurting the rest of the world--”

“And yet, you are already doing more damage to the nation than any other Fire Lord has,” General Su snaps. “Ozai was hundreds of times the man you are. You are a coward, a weak puppet, a _child--”_

Zuko stands up. The room quiets immediately as all of his generals look towards him. Most of them look apprehensive, but there are a few who do not bother disguising their disdain with him.

It doesn’t even affect him anymore, if he’s being honest. He hears the same argument every single time - weak, Avatar’s puppet, child. It used to sting, but now it’s just… exhausting. Because these are the people who were willing to sacrifice a division of children, who were willing to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground in the name of Ozai’s thirst for power, who turned the other way when Zuko--

“You forget yourself, General Su,” says Zuko quietly. “My age does not discount my power, nor does my friendship with the Avatar. I stand on the side of the people of the Fire Nation. And even if you do not believe those things, Ozai is no longer the Fire Lord. I have taken his place, and I do not intend on being anything like him. I demand your respect, General.”

“I’ll respect you once you’ve earned it,” General Su spits, standing as well. “I refuse to bow down to a traitor.”

Zuko is much too tired for this.

“I have no interest in keeping disloyal subjects under my employment,” says Zuko, and the tension in the room skyrockets. “Your points are not incorrect, and I truly do agree with many of your concerns, but you are arguing for the wrong cause. Economic depression is inevitable, but the war is already over. At the rate that the Fire Nation was headed with the war, we would’ve hit recession far harder than what is going to happen. I would advise everyone in this room to accept that the war has ended and that I am the one on the throne unless you would prefer to be out of a job. You are my generals, not Ozai’s, and the war is over. Please, General Su. Sit down or step out.”

Zuko lifts an arm, lazily extending it towards the door. General Su’s expression is downright mutinous, his fists trembling at his sides and his eyes twitching like he’s about to start screaming. The other generals are dead silent, all of them looking at Zuko and then at Su as though waiting for something.

Finally, General Su drops his head. He gives Zuko a stiff nod, folding his legs back into a seated position. Zuko sits as well.

“Thank you,” he says coldly. “Now, General Jiang. Your report on the soldiers returning home?”

General Jiang stands a little too quickly, glancing apprehensively at Zuko. The sound of his robes rustling as he gets to his feet is like a fireblast in the heavy silence.

“The last of the divisions should have returned at this point,” says General Jiang. “The majority of soldiers are now back in Fire Nation lands and are returning home to their families from all over the world. The exception being, of course, the colonies in the Earth Kingdom, as the withdrawal of Fire Nation forces would do more harm than good given the current state of the Earth Kingdom. There are the usual reports of missing soldiers, deserters, and unconfirmed deaths, but there are a few… peculiarities I noticed in the report.”

General Jiang points to a spot on the map, just outside of Ba Sing Se. “The 32nd division, stationed here, went missing without a trace,” he says. He shifts his finger, continuing to point as he speaks. “The 67th, sent in to ambush Earth Kingdom soldiers five months ago, but none of them returned. The 89th, all missing after a failed attempt to take an Earth Kingdom village. The 75th, taken just after Ba Sing Se was reclaimed by the Earth Kingdom.”

 _By your uncle,_ he doesn’t say, but the displeasure is implied in the way his lips tighten slightly before he breaks his hesitation.

“Are these not included in standard reports of missing soldiers?” asks General Ota with a frown. “I would assume that they were simply killed or taken prisoner.”

“But entire divisions?” asks General Jiang. “All of these divisions were taken in relatively similar positions as well - all close to Ba Sing Se. I have reason to believe that the Earth Kingdom may be holding on to war prisoners despite the terms of the treaty signed during the Ba Sing Se peace talks.”

Well. Shit.

“That is a bold accusation,” says Zuko. “Do we know anything more about this?”

General Jiang shakes his head. “Merely speculation, Your Majesty. However, it feels too suspicious to simply let go of it. I would like to request that you contact the Earth King and inquire about the missing troops.”

Zuko nods. “I agree,” he says, and General Jiang’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “This is definitely out of the ordinary. However, I think it would be better if you wrote directly to General How of the Council of Five. This seems like a matter he would be more… er, well-versed in.”

He doesn’t bother saying anything about the Earth King’s general floundering. Zuko is starting to sympathize with the man.

“Understood, Fire Lord,” says General Jiang, bowing. He takes a seat, not bothering to hide the slightly incredulous look on his face as he exchanges a glance with General Wang, seated across the table from him.

Do they think that Zuko isn’t going to show them respect because they aren’t showing him respect? Was Ozai immature, or is Zuko being too polite?

The rest of the meeting passes with zero interruption from any of the generals and very minimal shouting. It’s the most peaceful, productive interaction that he’s ever had with them, and Zuko leaves the war room with a much lighter feeling than when he entered it. He even exchanges a nod with General Ota on his way out, and General Wen gives him a respectful bow as they pass one another.

Something has shifted. Whether from his stand-off with General Su or his interaction with General Jiang, he isn’t sure. But it’s nice.

Zuko fights a smile as he walks down the hallway.

\---

_Zuko,_

_You’re insane. You’re fucking insane, and I’m going to murder you when I see you next. Why did I have to find out that you almost got assassinated_ again _from Ty Lee?! Poison? Seriously? And Ty Lee only found out because Mai wrote to her! There was no hint of anything wrong in your letters to us! Has anything else happened since then? Tell the truth - I’ll know if you’re lying. Ty Lee is writing to Mai right now, and she’s really worried, too. She just dropped the information in her letter casually, like we already knew, but we had no idea. I’m assuming that you didn’t tell any of our other friends, either. Did you even tell Iroh? You have to talk to us, Zuko. I’m really pissed at you right now._

 _You need to tell us this kind of stuff. When we ask you if you’re doing okay, we want your actual, genuine, honest answer, and if that answer is,_ “I feel like shit,” _then we want to know that. We’re your friends._

_Anyways, I’m glad you’re okay. From what it sounds like, Mai is visiting her family. I’m going to assume that you’re still at the palace. Hopefully, you’re not too cooped up in there. Keep yourself in shape - I still want that sparring match that we never had time for when I get back. Your swords, my fans. No bending. Just like what we agreed on._

_Things in the Earth Kingdom, specifically Ba Sing Se, have been actual hell. I’m not even going to try and sugarcoat it, because it’s seriously a mess. There are rioters and looters and protesters everywhere in the streets, calling for Earth King Kuei’s removal (even though he has no heirs) and overall just taking advantage of the chaos left by the broken wall. Which still hasn’t been repaired yet, by the way, because the Dai Li are still a mess. We only just found out that the Earth King’s correspondence is being intercepted - has been for weeks. If you’ve written to him at all in the past month, I’d suggest sending another letter._

_Fair warning-- I would anticipate some kind of rebellion in the Fire Nation if there hasn’t already been one. You might not find yourself with many looters and rioters yet, but I have a feeling that that’s just because of the fact that soldiers are all finally coming back to their families. Now that there’s severely decreased military presence everywhere in the Fire Nation, I’d brace for some violence if I were you. If it’s happening in the Earth Kingdom, it’s bound to happen in the Fire Nation._

_Right now, the Kyoshi warriors are the only real measure of defense that the palace has. We can’t trust any of the soldiers, much less the Dai Li. The Earth King has faced lots of accusations of his failure to lead and anger over the fact that he let himself be lied to about the war for the duration of his rule. No assassination attempts yet, thank the spirits._

_See? I’m not softening the edges or anything. I’m saying exactly what has happened (though I am, admittedly, keeping some information to myself due to security concerns - that’s not the point, though, and at least I’m telling you that that’s what I’m doing). We’re here for you, Zuko. Talk to us._

_By the way, I’m only telling you about the chaos in Ba Sing Se right now because you’re a world leader. You’ll probably understand more about it than even I do - definitely more than the Earth King does._

_I miss you. How are you doing? Answer that honestly. Again, I’ll know if you’re lying._

_Your favorite Kyoshi warrior (if you tell me that Ty Lee is your favorite, I’m going to strangle you),_

_Suki_

\---

He’s given up on trying to sleep, so this time, when the assassin comes into his room through the window, Zuko not only hears them, but he sees them, too.

He lifts his head, neck tight from how long he’s been staring at the scrolls before him, and doesn’t speak as the assassin glances at the empty bed, confusion clear in their stance.

“Over here,” Zuko says. The assassin reacts instantly, throwing a knife in his direction, and _oh._ That’s new.

It’s only due to his quick reflexes, war-trained instincts, and practice with Mai that he dodges the knife. It lands hilt-deep in the wall, quivering.

Shit. That’s _terrifying._

Zuko springs into action, shooting a blast of fire in the assassin’s direction, but this assassin is quick. They side-step the blast and lunge forward, another knife glinting in their hand, this one much longer and clearly designed for stabbing. Zuko blocks the hit with his arm, teeth gritted together as he shoves the assassin to the side, slashing fire towards their feet. They jump to avoid it.

A challenge. Zuko almost welcomes it after the insultingly easy attacks that came before.

The knife bites at his arm as he fails to dodge it, and he feels blood spurt from the opened wound. He retaliates with a blow to the assassin’s chin, attempting to sweep their leg out from under them. They land with a thud on the ground, but before Zuko can get on top and pin them, they roll back onto their feet with a mocking level of ease.

It becomes increasingly clear, as they fight, that Zuko’s exhaustion and lack of food is not doing anything for his strength or his endurance. He’s getting winded faster than he normally would, and the slam of the assassin’s hand to his ribcage as he’s shoved backwards against the wall makes him realize just how much weight he’s lost. Normally, he would’ve been able to stand firm against an attack like that.

As it is, Zuko ends up pinned to the wall, breathing heavily. His hand is gripping his injured arm tightly, palm slick with blood.

“All hail Phoenix King Ozai,” the assassin says, because of course they do.

They lift the knife, a glint in their eyes as they start to drive it down, towards Zuko’s stomach, and he should’ve known that they would want to make it as painful as possible, but he doesn’t lift a hand to stop them, an overwhelming weariness swallowing his thoughts as he watches the knife come closer and closer--

The door bursts open. Captain Huang punches fire at the assassin, the knife clattering to the floor as the assassin stumbles backwards to avoid it. They crash against the floor, hands held up to shield themself as guards rush into the room to capture them.

Zuko doesn’t realize that he’s frozen to the wall until Captain Huang stands directly in front of him, her normally glaring expression softened slightly.

“Fire Lord Zuko?” she asks quietly. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t try to stop the attack from coming.

He didn’t-- he didn’t even _try._

“Fine,” he rasps. Captain Huang frowns, touching his arm, and Zuko flinches back instinctively before he realizes that she had seen the blood on the floor and the tear in his sleeve. Thankfully, Huang seems to take this as a confirmation that he’s injured, because she lifts his arm to inspect it more closely

“Shit,” she says to herself, low and under her breath. She looks at Zuko. “It’s not that deep, but we should get you some stitches. You’ll live.”

“I’m glad,” Zuko says dryly, and Captain Huang nods.

He appreciates her bluntness, the casual yet official tone with which she addresses him. Out of all of the people that he could’ve chosen to be the captain of his personal guard, Captain Huang was by far the best choice.

Zuko pushes himself off the wall to look at the assassin. The black cloth around their face has been pulled away, revealing a young woman with a slightly unnerving smile. She makes eye contact with Zuko, and her smile widens.

“Good,” she says. “I wanted you to see this.”

Before anyone can react, she makes a strange movement with her mouth, almost like a spasm, and then _bites._

Captain Huang gasps. She tackles the woman, wrenching her mouth open as everyone else stands there, stilled into silence with their shock. The woman actually spasms this time, writhing beneath Captain Huang’s grip, and her eyes are wide, that horrible smile still there, and there’s white foam bubbling at the woman’s mouth.

Suddenly, she goes completely still.

The room goes silent.

“Did she--” Akira blinks a few times. “Captain?”

Captain Huang slowly gets to her feet. The assassin’s eyes are blank, her smile still hovering on her slack features.

“She poisoned herself,” says Captain Huang bitterly. She nudges the body carefully with her foot. “I should’ve realized they would’ve started doing that after we imprisoned the last two assassins. The fact that they have the resources to obtain such poison is… concerning.”

“She’s from the New Ozai Society, then?” asks Zuko. Captain Huang holds out her hand, and one of the guards hands her the black fabric the assassin had used to cover her face. She turns it around, and Zuko can see the bright orange of a phoenix painted on the back.

“The most recent assassin had this, too,” says Huang. “Given what we saw on the plate, it’s very obvious that they’re sending us a message. An obvious one, at that. With the amount of confidence they’re displaying, I’d say that they’re taunting us, and I have a feeling that they are, but it appears that they have the resources to back said confidence.”

She sighs, looking at Zuko. “I’ll escort you to the doctor,” she says. “Akira, please wake up the others and see if there are any remaining assassins in the palace. Alert Captain Chen at the prison while you’re at it.”

Akira nods, saluting as she exits the room. It seems like this is a common practice at this point - handle Zuko, comb the palace, check on Ozai to make sure that he hasn’t been broken out.

The assassin killing herself seems to have thrown a wrench into the routine, though.

Zuko barely remembers being guided out of the room by Captain Huang, but her grip is firm on his uninjured arm as she leads him down the hallway.

“You’ll have to stay with the doctor tonight,” she says briskly, her tone all business. “I doubt you’ll want to go back to your room just yet. You should try to get some more sleep before tomorrow morning, even if there are only a few hours left.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Zuko says. “I was working.”

He can hear the frown in Captain Huang’s voice. “You weren’t asleep?”

“I haven’t been sleeping at all lately.”

There’s a silence.

“When was the last time that you ate, Fire Lord?” Captain Huang asks quietly.

“I don’t know.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but Zuko can feel her eyes on him for the remainder of their walk.

\---

_Dear Zuko,_

_Two of your friends, Suki and Ty Lee, came to visit me at the Jasmine Dragon. You did not tell me that you nearly got assassinated again. Please write back as soon as you are able._

_And no more lies, Zuko. Please tell us what is going on._

_Love,_

_Uncle Iroh_

\---

_Zuko,_

_This is a joint letter from Katara, Sokka, Aang, and Toph. I’m writing (Katara) because Sokka has terrible handwriting, Aang isn’t fluent in written Fire, and Toph is blind. (It's an intervention - Sokka)  
_

_Tell us what’s going on, Zuko. We know that you’re hiding information from us. Mai wrote to us a few days ago to tell us about the assassination attempt. She says that she thought you told us, but she found out that you didn’t when she wrote to Ty Lee. She seemed kind of pissed at you. I’d talk to her if I were you._

_We don’t know why you’re being so closed off, but we want you to know that we’re here for you, and you can trust us. We love you, Zuko. We can take whatever it is you’re going through._

_Take care of yourself. We’re here for you. Oh, and Aang says to remember your promise to him. He says that you’ll understand what that means._

_Love,_

_Katara, Sokka, Aang, and Toph_

\---

_Zuko,_

_I’m sorry that I didn’t write sooner. I kept trying to, but the words just wouldn’t come out right when I put them down on paper. I guess it’s fitting that when I actually do write to you, it’s to confront you about something. I’m sorry._

_You didn’t tell your friends about the assassination attempt. Or your uncle. I thought you did. I don’t know why you didn’t. I-- Whatever. You’ve made your choices, and you’re continuing to make them. I can see that nothing I said got through to you. It’s fine. We’ll deal with it when I get back. It’ll be easier to talk about this in person._

_But, still. Write to us._ Talk _to us. You can’t keep ignoring everything that’s happening. I know you’re awake right now, and I know that this letter will reach you in under an hour since we’re so close. Write to me._

_Love,_

_Mai_

\---

In the end, it’s Mai’s letter that pushes him to make a decision. A decision that she’ll murder him over if she ever finds out about it.

She won’t find out about it.

He slides out of bed, wrapping a cloak over his shoulders and pulling the hood over his head, hair let down from the top knot. The window creaks slightly as he opens it, but it isn’t loud enough to alert the guards outside of his door. He slips out of his room and onto the rooftop.

He takes a familiar path, one that he has walked since he was a child roaming the palace in search of adventure. He knows which spots to avoid, which tiles will wobble when he puts his weight on them, which beams of wood he can trust to balance on. He knows, and he walks.

It’s quiet out. Peaceful. He can almost forget what he set out here to do.

He slips into the kitchen through the window. Brews a cup of tea (Uncle would be horrified if he knew what it was for, but he never has to know) in that careful way he was taught back in Ba Sing Se. He knows that it doesn’t come out quite right, not as well as Uncle’s, but it’s good by Zuko’s standards. He sets two teacups and the teapot on a wooden tray and starts walking once more.

The prison stands as tall and foreboding as it was the first time Zuko came to do this.

“Who’s there?” a voice shouts from somewhere above. Zuko pulls down his hood, looking up and letting the light from the moon light his face. There’s an audible gasp, a frantic apology.

 _It shouldn’t be this easy to get into the prison,_ he thinks as the doors open for him. He doesn’t think he likes the power that comes with his position very much. He doesn’t really like anything about his position, actually.

Not the point.

He doesn’t need directions in this place. He memorized the path to the cell the first time that he came to visit despite having no intention of ever returning here. Down the hall, take the first right, go down the steps on the left, take a left, and stop at the door by the curve of the hallway.

He nods at the guard by the door, who scrambles to open it. Zuko walks inside, blinking in the darkness, grip tightening on the tray as his eyes land on the dark, huddled figure cast in shadow against the wall of the cell, illuminated in the orange, flickering flames of the torches outside. He swallows, forcing back the panic that rises instinctively in his throat at the sight, even now, and steels himself to face his only option remaining.

He sits down in front of the bars of the cell, setting the tray of tea in front of him as he tucks his legs beneath his thighs, into something resembling a kneeling position, a position that the Fire Lord should never get into, but one that Zuko has assumed many times and assumes now, out of habit. He lowers his head, hair falling into his face as he curls his hands into fists on top of his thighs.

“I need your advice,” he says, lips barely moving from how tightly his jaw is set, “Father.”

The corner of Ozai’s mouth lifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops :)
> 
> "Aang wouldn’t want him to die, after all, regardless of a promise that they made" haha i'm so funny fuck The Promise <3 Can you tell that this fic was born out of spite? Because it was.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments!! I wish I could hug you all individually - everyone who comments just makes my entire fucking day and honestly keeps me going. You're all just. Amazing. I've had a really, really rough past few days (bye you can probably tell just from this chapter--), but re-reading all of your comments and the ones on the one shot I posted the other day just. Got me through it. Seriously - thank you. So much.
> 
> Come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	15. fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko talks to Ozai, has a breakdown, avoids death again, and does politics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!!!
> 
> ooOOOh boy ;))
> 
> I'm going to start telling you all the draft chapter titles in the beginning notes from now on because this one's draft title was daddy issues and that? That is the perfect description of this chapter.
> 
> Okay, I know that this chapter is a little stilted and definitely could've been paced better (I'm honestly trying to get through this arc quickly so we can get to the really exciting parts), and I'm definitely not as happy as I could be with-- Okay, you know what? I say that every single time. I'm just going to let you all read it now. I'm sure you get the gist of my constant self-doubt spirals by this point lmao
> 
> (Side note: the conversations with Ozai are partially taken from the Promise. I've directly copied some parts of dialogue and made some additions/subtractions where I saw fit. I'd still recommend reading through both conversations because I've added quite a big of my own writing to it, but you should know that there is a substantial amount of dialogue drawn straight from the comics.)
> 
> CW: not eating/sleeping, vomiting, accidental self-harm (two instances, neither done on purpose), panic attack (not explicit i don't think??) - as always, lmk if I missed something !!
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

Zuko is on his knees in front of Ozai again.

Again. _Again._ After everything, he’s--

Zuko swallows, barely keeping his anger and shame and _fear,_ so much fear, down in his throat. He keeps his head bowed, not out of respect, but out of habit, out of the knowledge that if he lifts his head, Ozai will see his face and all of the emotions buzzing and boiling inside of him, and realize that Zuko is just as weak as he was before. Everything in him is screaming for him to move, to get out, to leave before Ozai does what he always does when Zuko is in this position - hurt him.

(Hurt, not love - Zuko knows what love feels like, now, and love isn’t burned handprints on young skin, isn’t sharp words designed to dig into his flesh, isn’t banishment and exile, isn’t conditional, isn’t supposed to hurt as much as Ozai’s does, and he might have trouble forgetting that sometimes, but he deep, deep down, he knows, he knows, he _knows,_ now.)

This isn’t even anywhere near the worst decision Zuko has made. It’s actually a pretty good decision, if he’s being honest. He’s not putting himself in any physical danger, and he’s seeking out advice from the one person who actually has experience in the position that he’s in. Ozai is the only person in the world who can possibly give him anything meaningful and helpful regarding his situation.

So… this is fine. This is fine. Zuko is making the right choice.

Uncle would probably argue that his mental well being is more important than any advice Ozai could give him. So would Mai. So would the rest of his friends.

But they’re not here.

The smile on Ozai’s face is familiar, the same look that Azula wears, the one that says _I-told-you-so_ and holds a note of vindictive pleasure. It’s almost enough to get Zuko to stand up and walk away, leaving the tea and the cell and the prison behind to never return.

Almost.

“You want my advice,” says Ozai. He doesn’t move from where he sits against the wall of the cell, legs tucked beneath him on the mat. “I knew you would come, eventually, but I must say, I didn’t expect you so soon.”

Zuko stays silent. His nails dig into his palms.

“Look at me.”

His hands are trembling. He’s changed his mind; it was a terrible idea to come here, a horrible decision, the worst thing that he could’ve done to himself after everything that has happened over the past few days, but he-- he’s still here, and he’s not--

_"Look at me.”_

Ozai isn’t the Fire Lord anymore, and he technically holds no real authority over Zuko anymore, but--

Zuko lifts his head.

Ozai looks years older than he had before, black hair falling around his gaunt face in matted clumps, dark bags under his eyes to rival Zuko’s, a weariness in his shoulders that Zuko has never seen before. But despite this, his eyes glint with a familiar coldness, a confidence in them that Ozai still has not lost despite being behind bars, inner flame extinguished forever. This is the same man who nearly destroyed the world just months earlier, yet Zuko cannot put the two people together in his mind. It’s much like he cannot put Ozai and Father together in his head, although, admittedly, those lines have been blurring lately.

For better or for worse, he doesn’t know.

Zuko pours tea into the cups in front of him. He hesitates for just a heartbeat before offering one of the cups to Ozai, who accepts it.

“I must admit,” says Ozai slowly, bringing the teacup to his lips, “that I was… pleasantly surprised to hear of your Agni Kai with Azula. Disappointed with her for the many lapses in judgement and weakness she displayed, of course, but you showed an impressive level of strength.”

Zuko stiffens. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m simply stating an observation,” Ozai says smoothly. “I am in no position to bargain with the _Fire Lord,_ after all.”

“You’re--” Zuko breaks off, biting the inner part of his cheek. Ozai is still smiling at him, like Zuko is doing everything that he expected him to do.

He hates it.

“You have no right to talk about Azula,” he says, voice shaking slightly with suppressed anger. “Target me all you want, but you’ve done enough to her.”

Ozai leans forward. “Interesting,” he muses. “You’ve never shown any interest or particular kindness towards her before. Have you two reconciled since her attempt to kill you at the Agni Kai?”

“I lived,” snaps Zuko. He shakes his head violently. “You have no right to ask me questions. I’m the one who came here--”

“And I’m the one with the answers that you want.”

“You--”

“I,” Ozai interrupts, “am your only option. Tell me, Zuko. Why have you not reached out to my brother for help? Why are you here instead of talking to your esteemed uncle, a man who trained for this role for decades?”

Zuko sets down his cup, hands curling into fists to hide how badly they’re trembling. His nails dig harder into his palms, finding the marks that have long since healed since his conversation with Chief Arnook.

He hates this. He hates everything about this.

“You’re--” Zuko closes his eyes tightly shut, something in his chest burning. He reopens them and looks Ozai straight in the eyes. “You’re the only one who’d get it.”

It's not the whole truth, but it's a large part of it. Ozai’s eyebrow raises in mild surprise.

“I suppose that that’s true,” he says. “Our ascensions to the throne are not as different as they might first appear, after all. The less favored sons, the ones never quite trained enough for their positions and for the power they possess. But is that really the only reason why you’re here, Zuko?”

“I didn’t think you’d be very open to conversation if I came in shouting for you to tell me where Mother is,” Zuko says, and that draws a laugh out of Ozai. He feels his body go rigid at the sound.

“Very well, Fire Lord,” says Ozai, his voice quiet and drawling on Zuko’s title, smooth as blood on too pale skin. “What do you want to know?”

Zuko pauses. He takes a sip from his tea.

“I can’t sleep,” he says after a brief silence, and even though he says it quietly, his words seem to ring out as though he screamed them. “I haven’t been able to sleep for weeks now. I-- I never saw you look anything but well-rested during your rule, even when I was a child. How were you able to withstand the pressures of the throne?”

It’s not anywhere near what he’d like to ask, because there’s no way that he’s going to explicitly tell Ozai about the assassination attempts and the struggles in politics he’s been having. But rather than scoffing, ridiculing him for the mundane question, Ozai’s expression turns thoughtful.

“Do you remember those family vacations we used to take on Ember Island?” he asks.

Zuko can’t hide his confusion. Ozai takes another sip of his tea as his eyes wander into a memory.

“Once,” he says, looking at the ground somewhere in front of the tray of tea, “at the beach - you couldn’t have been older than three at the time - we saw a hawk attacking a turtle-crab by the water. You ran as fast as your little legs would carry you to rescue that turtle-crab.” He scoffs. “Even then, you possessed an odd affinity for the weak.”

Zuko stays quiet, even as the silence lingers for a few long moments. He doesn’t dare break the moment, the spell cast upon the two of them in this tiny stone cell with metal bars between them. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar at once, a strange, unnameable feeling that Zuko has always had in the back of his head being brought to life before him, only the roles are completely reversed, the rules no longer what they were before.

“But then,” Ozai continues, “when you had the turtle-crab safely in your arms, you hesitated. The hawk looked at you with hungry eyes, and you realized you were condemning it to starve. You didn’t know whether to side with the hawk or the turtle-crab. Before you could reach a decision, a giant wave washed over you and carried you out into the ocean.”

Ozai brings the cup to his lips once more, taking a slow, careful sip.

“I dove in to save you myself,” he says. “You spent the rest of the day in your mother’s arms, vomiting seawater.”

Zuko waits for a moment to make sure that Ozai has finished speaking. He clenches and unclenches his fists on top of his legs, ignoring the sharp bursts of pain in his palms from where his nails have put too much pressure on the old wounds.

“I came here,” he says, throat tight for reasons he doesn’t want to explain to himself, “looking for advice. I want to know how you were able to sleep peacefully in spite of the pressures of the throne.”

“And I told you.”

Anger flares. “I don’t see how an old family memory--”

“I’m tired, Zuko,” Ozai interrupts. He gets to his feet, moving away from the bars of the cell, and Zuko hadn’t even _realized_ that he’d gotten up to move so close in the first place. “We’re done talking for now. Perhaps we will continue tomorrow.”

Zuko fumes silently. He stares at Ozai’s back for a few beats, heart thumping widely in his chest as he opens his mouth to shout, demand that Ozai turn back around.

But old habits stay firm.

He sets his jaw, picking up the tray. Ozai doesn’t move as he exits the room, re-opening the cell door and squinting in the sudden light.

But then, just as Zuko is closing the door:

“Next time,” says Ozai, “bring more tea.”

When the door shuts behind him, Zuko looks down at his hands to find that blood is trailing down his palms once more.

\---

And that’s all he can think about for the entirety of the next day.

Ozai. Father. Whoever the man in that cell is, it isn’t anything like the man that Zuko is used to confronting. Ozai was _deadly,_ always upfront with his anger and wrath. But the man that Zuko spoke with was gentle, in some odd, twisted way, and though that same calculating intelligence glinted in his golden eyes, though the gentleness was tinged with something else, it was still gentle.

He can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about the story, either, because it felt so out of place in their conversation, like something _Uncle_ would say--

“Shut up,” Zuko mutters to himself, closing his eyes. He spares a brief glance at the door to make sure that his guards are still there before letting his head fall into his arms on the desk, huffing a sigh that flutters the edges of the papers.

Spirits, he’s _tired._

There’s a knock at his door, loud enough that it causes Zuko to sit bolt upright, eyes wide and alert, his entire body tense and ready to move. He relaxes when he realizes that it’s just Akira, her hand slipping around the door as she lets herself inside.

“Akira,” he greets, running a hand through his hair, let down from the top knot. “Is something the matter?”

“No, Your Majesty,” she says. There’s a soft click of ceramic on wood, and Zuko looks down in time to see Akira setting a plate of food down in front of him. He looks back up at her, frowning in confusion.

“The cooks specifically asked me to bring your dinner to you,” says Akira in her usual brisk tone. “They’re quite worried about you. You haven’t eaten anything that they’ve made.”

“I told them to stop making me things,” mumbles Zuko, eyeing the food with a slightly wary gaze. He turns back to Akira, wiping the exhaustion away as best as he can. “Thank them for me, regardless. And… tell them that I’m sorry.”

“Understood, Fire Lord.”

Akira starts towards the door, but she pauses before she can get too far. She slowly turns back around, her normally severe expression cracked slightly with the smile teasing her lips.

“Captain Huang has a message for you,” she says. “She saw you on the roof last night. She suggests you burn steam off properly in the training room. I think she’d rather you be injured while training than from falling off of the roof.”

“Falling off of roofs usually hurts less,” Zuko says, mostly to himself, but Akira’s eyebrow raises slightly. “But, er-- I’ll think about that. Thank you.”

Akira bows, closing the door behind her. Zuko looks at the food.

 _Could be poisoned,_ he thinks. His stomach clenches unbearably, and he grimaces, putting a hand to it.

When was the last time that he ate properly? No, when was the last time that he ate at all? It can’t have been that long, can it?

Zuko presses his lips together, staring at the plate of food, his work left forgotten in front of him. He hesitates, hand hovering over the two chopsticks balanced precariously on the edge of the plate, then looks back at the brush still dripping with ink.

Hunger finally wins.

He picks up the chopsticks and carefully takes a chunk of rice. He knows, after his time wandering the Earth Kingdom, not to eat too much after eating next to nothing for so long, and though it takes more effort than he’d like to admit as his mouth waters around the rice in his mouth, he keeps himself restrained.

He takes a clump of noodles, this time, and places them in his mouth. He chews, slowly, deliberately, relishing the tastes that are now unfamiliar to him after so long, enough that it almost tastes like--

No.

_No._

Zuko shoves two fingers in his mouth and vomits the food into the waste bin.

Shit. _Shit._ It’s-- He’s shaking, just like last time, except Mai isn’t here to put her hand on his back and whisper reassurances to him. He’s alone, now, and the room is dark but for a singular candle, eyes watering with tears that might not just be from throwing up, and there’s something that hurts in his chest, that _aches_ with something that he can’t even name.

When he’s done, Zuko buries his face into his trembling arms and closes his eyes.

He should tell someone. He should tell Captain Huang or one of the chefs in the kitchen or Akira or Eiji or-- or _someone,_ anyone at all. He should get up right now, should shout for his guards, should just--

But he’s tired.

He’s so, so tired.

No one would know if he didn’t tell. Besides, he recognized the taste before any real harm could be done. He doesn’t need to tell anyone, doesn’t need to bother anyone about something that didn’t even work, that will no doubt happen again tomorrow.

Zuko’s hands tighten around the rim of the waste bin as he struggles to get a hold of his breathing once more. The crescent-shaped splits in his palms throb at the pressure. He seizes the feeling, focusing on the pain to ground himself once more, root himself like how Mai’s presence seems to do so easily. It’s an absolutely horrible substitute, nothing like Mai’s voice and gentle touch, nothing like the glimmer in her eyes and the feeling of her arms around him, but it works.

It works, and he feels almost worse for it. He straightens back up, taking a deep breath.

And he doesn’t say a word.

\---

He ends up going back to Ozai.

He brings tea again, sneaking down to the kitchens and then back up to the rooftops, hiding under the cover of night and the hood of his cloak until he reaches the prison. Everything that he has planned to say swims through his head, drowning out the small suspicions poking at his mind.

He keeps walking.

When he sits down in front of Ozai, he pours the tea into the two cups. Ozai takes one, Zuko takes the other. Zuko waits until Ozai has already put the cup to his lips before speaking.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” he says. “I still can’t. But I’ve thought about what you said, and I think I know what the point of the story was, now.”

Ozai lifts an eyebrow, indicating that he’s listening. Zuko takes a deep breath.

“At the beach,” he says, voice steady as he runs through the rehearsed words, “I was overwhelmed by my circumstances because I couldn’t decide whose side to take. I should have sided with the hawk. It was strong and noble, much like the Fire Nation. It had earned its meal.”

Zuko’s hands tighten into fists again, and he can’t stop his nails from going right to the unhealed marks in his palms. “But I’ve already done that,” he says. His voice rises in volume as he speaks, frustration and desperation alike leaking into his tone. “I’m no longer neglecting the needs of my own people; I know better, now, because of my mistakes in Ba Sing Se! But I still can’t sleep!”

Ozai sets the cup back down, the darkness partially shrouding his features in shadow.

"You’re only partially correct in your assessment,” he says. “Your sleeplessness does indeed stem partially from your inability to choose sides, to distinguish what is right - though I would not be so presumptuous to assume that that is the only reason. But you are wrong about the hawk.”

Zuko blinks, anger forgotten. “So you’re saying… I _should_ have defended the turtle-crab? I _should_ have sided with the weaker of the two?”

“What I’m saying is this.” Ozai looks Zuko straight in the eye, unfaltering. “There is no right or wrong apart from what you decide. Who you choose to defend deserves to be defended simply because _you_ chose them. _You_ are the Fire Lord. What you choose, by definition, is right.”

It rings a little too closely to what Zuko has been reminding himself since he first took the throne: _You are the Fire Lord, not anyone else._ He said it to reassure himself of his own identity and morals, that he is not and will never become Ozai, but now the man himself is saying it, and it feels-- it feels _wrong._

“You’re wrong,” snaps Zuko. “Right and wrong are bigger than you, or me, or even the Avatar. Title alone does not give me any kind of supremacy over others. It never gave _you_ any supremacy, either.”

Ozai’s lips pull into a smile. “And yet,” he says softly, picking up his cup once more, “I am the one that you seek advice from. Not your uncle, not your sister, not any of your ministers. You sought _me_ out.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Ozai lifts an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that? Do you assume that I do not know how you have isolated yourself, how truly little you have slept and eaten since your rule began? I am the only one who appears to recognize this, it seems, because you are _here,_ not writing to your uncle or to the Avatar’s friends. You are here, in this cell, with me, because I am the only one who knows exactly what you are experiencing. You said as much when you visited last night.”

Zuko is silent. He takes a sip of tea because he has nothing else to do with his hands, ignoring how they shake slightly.

“But how did you do it?” he bursts out suddenly. “How did you-- How were you able to become so assured of yourself? You were never prepared for the throne like Uncle was, but you… you _managed._ You kept the nation going.”

“I just told you, Zuko,” says Ozai. “The Fire Lord’s word is the truth, and he therefore can do no wrong. Whatever you do, people will listen to you, because they _have_ to. Fear is the only reliable way to gain people’s loyalty.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Ozai raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps with a different court, a different set of ministers and generals, you could disagree with my statement, but I know the people you are conversing with too well for you to say otherwise. You need to play the game that I played to gain their respect. You did, to an extent, with your generals, but you would be naive to assume that they will not push you even more to see just how far you are willing to go. You must show them, your generals and ministers alike, that you have no limit. Only then will they listen.”

Zuko blanches. “How did you--”

“You have surrounded yourself with incompetent, weak _children,”_ Ozai spits, cutting over him. “You were a failure to begin with, but your time spent with the Avatar and his friends, with your uncle, has done nothing to help your shortcomings.”

“Avatar Aang--”

“The Avatar is an irrelevant relic of a bygone age,” interrupts Ozai. “He wants to keep the world frozen in time by denying the inevitable victory of the strong over the weak.”

“Avatar Aang is my friend!” shouts Zuko, shooting to his feet. He’s fully aware of how childish he sounds, but Ozai’s expectant expression does nothing to quell his anger. “More often than not, he’s been on the side that’s _right!_ He’s influenced me in ways that have done more to help me than you ever have and ever will. I _trust_ him--”

“More than you trust yourself?” asks Ozai, eyes narrowing.

Zuko freezes. He looks away.

Blood pounds in his ears.

"You sicken me,” he hears Ozai snarl. He rises to his feet. “Leave my presence.”

Indignation rushes through Zuko. “Who are you to talk to me this way? Have you forgotten your current place in--”

_"Leave. My. Presence.”_

And though he has come so far from the days of withdrawing from every touch, from recoiling from fire and any loud noises, he still flinches at the sound of Ozai’s sharp, raised voice, so familiar to his ears, as though no time has passed at all since his childhood. There’s an odd comfort in the familiarity, because he didn’t know what to make of the odd gentleness from the other night, but this, _this_ he knows. And he knows how to respond to this.

(Ridiculously, he feels a little tendril of hope get squashed violently in his chest, a tendril that shouldn’t have even existed in the first place.)

He finds himself getting to his feet despite himself, grabbing the tray and turning on his heel, storming out of the room.

It’s less storming out and more fleeing. But no one but Zuko has to know that.

\---

Two days later, Zuko stands before his ministers, papers in hand. Waiting.

They’re all staring at him. Have been for the past thirty seconds now, none of them speaking. They’re typically much more talkative than this. They’re not even insulting him, which is slightly alarming.

The only good thing that can be said about this entire situation is that it’s taking his mind off of Mai. It’s not helping with taking his mind off of Ozai, though, because this room is full of him. The entire palace is.

 _Focus,_ Zuko tells himself firmly, but it’s hard considering that he’s stayed up all night again and hasn’t eaten anything all day. As usual.

He’s just finished giving his ministers a breakdown of his ideas for legislation to handle returning soldiers and the medical system in the Fire Nation, an explanation that took about twenty minutes total as he detailed the situation in the nation and the goals he’d like to accomplish. Now, his ministers are staring at him with what can only be described as… apprehension.

Which doesn’t make sense.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” says Minister Xin at last. “I must ask… do you really think that introducing such drastic changes so early in your rule is a good idea?”

“Drastic?” asks Zuko. “I hardly think these are _drastic_ changes _,_ Minister Xin. Drastic in comparison to what came before, yes, but that is because there have been very few laws dictating the treatment of patients in the past. And laws protecting returning soldiers and veterans are practically nonexistent in our history. I think this is something that is far overdue.”

“Perhaps,” says Minister Xin, “but so early on in your rule? I doubt that the people will be very receptive to this.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow,” Zuko says slowly. “I’m doing this _for_ the people.”

“What Minister Xin means to say,” interjects Minister Hirano, a small, condescending smirk on his face, “is that this is absolutely unprecedented. Soldiers do not need to be _coddled_ , Fire Lord Zuko, especially by someone as young and inexperienced as you. They do not need any of this.”

Minister Hirano punctuates his last remark with a sharp jab at his notes. There are a few ministers nodding their heads in agreement.

“I am not coddling them, Minister Hirano,” says Zuko, barely managing to hold back a biting retort. “My youth has nothing to do with this, and a lack of precedent does not mean that it cannot be done. They may be soldiers, but they are also human beings. It is presumptuous to expect these soldiers to be able to return easily to the life that they were living before given everything that they have seen.”

 _Isn’t that what you did?_ a voice says in Zuko’s head, and he silences it immediately.

“There hasn’t been a problem in the past,” says Minister Yang, stroking his beard. “I don’t understand why this is so pertinent all of a sudden. We never saw issues with things like this under Phoenix King Ozai’s rule.”

 _Phoenix King Ozai._ He’s not even _trying_ to hide the fact that he’s an Ozai loyalist. And it’s not like Zuko isn’t used to being compared to Ozai by his council at this point, but it gets him every single time. It’s worse, now, after his visits to the prison.

_“Fear is the only reliable way to gain people’s loyalty.”_

Perhaps Ozai was right. He worked with these ministers for decades, after all, and Zuko knows that this is what Ozai’s strategy is and always has been.

But.

With some difficulty, Zuko pushes the memory out of his head.

“It isn’t sudden,” he says. “This has always been a problem. It is only now that the legislation in the Fire Nation is being introduced to address it.”

Except it isn’t just the Fire Nation. None of the nations have legislation even alluding to the topics (other than the Earth Kingdom’s law that requires institutions turn over particularly difficult patients to Ba Sing Se, and Zuko had no idea what to make of that), which surprised Zuko greatly while he was researching for things he could use as reference for his proposal today. His ministers don’t need to know that, though, especially if it means that they’ll think that the Fire Nation is behind in this sense.

That doesn’t seem to be the case, though.

“If it has not posed a major problem before,” says Minister Yang, his tone bordering on patronizing, “then I see no reason to address it now. It sounds to me like people have been handling it themselves, like proper Fire Nation citizens. And regarding the point about the institutions that you made early on in your explanation, Your Majesty, I do not think that that is anywhere near important. There are no other ways to handle the mentally unstable. Humanity is not a luxury that can be afforded.”

“There could be other ways if we allowed ourselves to open our eyes,” Zuko responds, his frustration showing just slightly in his tone. The disturbing part, he thinks to himself, is that he would likely have the exact same sentiment that his ministers are showing had Azula not experienced the treatment that she had, had he not been plagued with guilt over her situation. Because, yeah. They’re right. There aren’t better ways to handle situations like Azula’s. But there _could_ be.

Minister Yang frowns slightly. And the rest of his ministers are frowning as well.

“What do you want, Fire Lord Zuko?” asks Minister Chang, leaning forward with his hands clasped on the table. “Your explanation was quite… enlightening, but I must ask what, specifically, you would like from _us_.”

Zuko straightens up. “I want a team,” he says. “A team that can write the legislation so that I may look individual laws over and make final decisions. This is too big a task for just myself. I also want to open up communications to the Northern Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom on their healing practices so that we may get more information on their healing practices that the Fire Nation does not currently have.”

“That is… quite the demand,” Minister Xin says slowly.

“I will make the request to the Northern Water Tribe and the Earth Kingdom myself,” Zuko says. “The team should not be too difficult to organize. We can assemble doctors from all over the Fire Nation as well as a strong collection of lawmakers and politicians.”

There’s a pause as this sinks in. Zuko forces down the small pound of hope in his chest, not daring to breathe.

“I do not think that this legislation is relevant,” says Minister Hirano, looking at Zuko like he’s a clueless child who wandered on the wrong side of the fence, and the ministers are all nodding, now, collectively. And Zuko’s stomach clenches.

Ozai told him to use fear to gain their loyalty. But Zuko would rather they argue and fight him over the smallest things, would rather they treat him like shit, than have them agree with him simply out of fright. That’s how Ozai treated them, and look where that had gotten him.

 _But,_ a voice reminds him, _these are still_ Ozai’s _ministers. He practically trained them to obey him; he knows them better than anyone else._

 _They're_ _not his anymore,_ Zuko says in his head firmly, pointedly ignoring the logic behind that statement. He presses his lips together, quite literally biting back his fire, and nods shortly.

“I think we should end this meeting early to take our lunch break, if you all are in agreement,” he says curtly. “We have another meeting later this afternoon, I believe. I’ll see you all then to discuss other topics. Dismissed.”

Zuko all but storms out of the council room, pausing only to tell his guards to go to his quarters and stay there until he returns (Captain Huang is going to give him shit about it later, but he could care less at this point), and stalks down the hallway. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but the afternoon sun is painfully bright, hurting his eyes, and the palace has too much open space and open air to avoid it if he stops. So he keeps walking.

He’ll skip lunch. He’s too worked up to sit down, anyways, and Mai isn’t here to pressure him into eating. Besides, he’s been a little too cautious around food these days to maintain an appetite for very long.

_They said no._

Zuko shouldn’t be surprised. He knew from the very beginning that getting his ministers to agree with him would be very, very difficult, especially given the people sitting in his council. They already balk at everything he suggests, but apparently, wanting to help his people is going too far.

Saying that he is furious is an understatement.

Zuko is willing to bet that almost all of them are Ozai loyalists. None of them respect him. They’re not even taking him seriously. He can’t fire his entire council - he already feels bad about threatening his generals with that. Not only would that make him look just like Ozai, but he doesn’t have anyone to replace those people. The only people that could fill the positions would almost certainly be loyal to Ozai, too, and he’d be stuck in the same problem all over again.

Zuko stops dead in his tracks, fuming. He wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was coming out of his ears.

It’s an infuriatingly nice day. Zuko glares up at the sun.

His regalia is _stifling._ And he’s restless. Pacing around the palace has done nothing for him, and because he ended the meeting so early, he still has hours to go before he has to meet with his ministers again.

Then, he remembers what Akira suggested on behalf of Captain Huang.

Not even ten minutes later, Zuko walks right through the arched entryway to the training room holding his broadswords and wearing much lighter clothes that allow for more movement. He forces a smile as he makes eye contact with the servant inside (does this servant think him a boy-king, too? A mere shadow of Ozai, a pitiful excuse for a world leader, a puppet to the Avatar--)

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” says the servant, bowing. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

“I’m just here to practice,” Zuko says, holding up his swords. “If that’s alright.”

The servant’s eyes widen. “Of course that’s alright, Your Majesty!” she says quickly. “It’s just… There's a training room reserved specifically for the Fire Lord just down the hall. I can take you there if you wish.”

Of course there’s a private training room.

“Sure,” says Zuko, because he doesn’t think that this servant wants to hear about how uncomfortable he’s become with extravagance. The smile grows a little stiff on his face. “That would be great.”

It’s not great.

It’s not great at all. And it’s made even worse given what he was thinking about before.

Zuko should’ve known. He should’ve known what he was getting into when the servant said that the room was _reserved specifically for the Fire Lord._

Ozai used this room. And this room is filled with his presence.

So much for taking his mind off of things.

It’s like the universe is conspiring to make his thoughts into reality. He visits him twice, gets talked down to by his ministers still loyal to Ozai, and then walks into a room belonging to Ozai. Of course.

Zuko quickly dismisses the servant, reassuring her that he’ll be completely fine by himself. He’s left alone, standing in the vast room with a pair of sheathed swords and a set of lungs that don’t seem to want to work properly.

Ozai’s touch is everywhere, lingering on the walls, the wooden swords hanging on the walls, the jars of burn cream in the cabinets, the punching bags in the corner and the sparring dummies shoved up against the walls.

He wonders if Ozai practiced here before their Agni Kai. If he was expecting Zuko to fight. If he was going to kill him to make it look like an accident. If he _meant_ to kill him that day by burning him. He wonders, he wonders, he wonders.

It’s been awhile since he’s thought about that.

Zuko forces himself to walk into the room, footsteps echoing slightly against the walls. He comes to a stop in the center.

He can do this. It’s just a training room.

Zuko forces himself to reach behind him and unsheathe his swords. He twists his wrists, getting the feel of them in his hands again as he wills his mind to empty, readying himself into a basic firebending form to run through with his swords.

“Your ministers all hate me,” he says into the silence. He looks at the wall across from him, imagining Ozai’s tall, familiar figure, the one he was before, not the quiet (but still dangerous, still painfully dangerous) shadow of a man hunched in a prison cell, and his grip tightens on the hilts of his swords. “I guess you trained them as well as you trained me if we have that in common.”

He starts.

Firebending with swords is, by no means, something that Zuko invented. But it’s not something that he’s seen many other people do, and he definitely doesn’t know of anyone who goes through katas with weapons. It’s something that he started to give him an edge in fights while he was a refugee but grew into something different, something to reclaim fire for himself.

His movements get more intense as he falls into more advanced forms, and soon, he’s not running through forms at all. He’s sparring with an imaginary opponent, locked in a dance of fire and steel with the air itself. Sweat clings to his torso, and he pauses for just a moment to take off his shirt, nearly overwhelmed from exertion and from the sheer amount of heat that his fire is producing. The blades of his swords glow white hot.

He doesn’t stop. He refuses to. He keeps going, even though he knows that he’ll be aching tomorrow, that he has to continue the meeting with his ministers in just a few hours, that he’s pushing himself too hard for someone who’s just come back from a trip to a foreign nation and hasn’t trained this hard in weeks, maybe months. But he doesn’t care if it means that he’ll be too tired to think, too tired to do anything but keep moving, and he’s good at that, good at ignoring his own problems and focusing on the _now_ , on what is here and what is in front of him to distract himself from his ministers, from a collapsing country, from Mai, from Ozai’s gentleness and shouting and his jabs at Aang and Uncle, from the fact that no one is listening to him and everything that he does seems to start a dozen new problems, and at this rate, he’s set to be the worst Fire Lord that this nation has ever seen--

The swords clatter out of his hands. Zuko falls into a crouch, burying his face in his hands.

He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t be here.

He thought training would help. And it does, usually; takes his mind off of things long enough for him to be able to rationalize his way through everything. But there is too much of Father in here for that to work this time. It’s Ozai’s room. Not Zuko’s.

He can’t do this.

_Breathe._

There are tears pricking in his eyes, and Zuko closes his eyes, willing them to disappear. He lifts his head, breathing hard, panting from how hard he’s pushed himself. He looks around the room, bright with sunlight.

Fuck. He really screwed things up with Mai, didn’t he? And he can’t even talk to her, now, because she’s with her family, and he’s not going to disturb her. Not when she’s made it clear that she wants to stay apart from him right now.

(But what if she doesn’t come back?)

_Breathe._

He’s all alone now. Katara is in the Northern Water Tribe, probably kicking some serious sexist ass; Suki and Ty Lee are in Ba Sing Se, helping the Earth King and surrounded by her warriors; Aang is traveling the world with Toph and Sokka, an echo of their old travels together, and Zuko? Zuko is in the palace, unable to agree with his ministers on anything, unable to eat, unable to sleep despite being so tired, so, so tired, all the time.

And Azula is in an institution, locked away for her own safety. And Zuko cannot do anything about it without endangering her or anyone else.

_Breathe._

And, what? His solution was to ignore those letters from his friends and Uncle? Was to lie to them in his correspondence? Was to visit Ozai? Was to avoid visiting Azula entirely out of the fear of what he would see, as though not seeing her would make everything go back to normal?

_Breathe._

He doesn’t belong here. He shouldn’t have even been made the Fire Lord in the first place. Some excuse for a leader he is when his own ministers refuse to listen to him. He’s never going to be good at this, never going to have a grasp on his nation, on politics, on economics, on doing his damn job, because he’s spent too long away from home for it to feel like home anymore. Not in the way that it matters. He’s a stranger to himself and a stranger in the palace.

The banished prince has returned as the Fire Lord, but he has not returned home. Perhaps he never will.

_Breathe._

Zuko pauses. His heart thunders in his ears, drowning out all other thoughts.

Everything he is thinking is exactly what Father would say.

Zuko stands up. He swallows thickly, leaving his swords where they are on the ground, and lets his gaze wander around the room.

The silence is heavy.

He takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes.

Zuko exhales, and his fire floods the entire room.

\---

A servant finds him sitting in the middle of the training room, ashes floating in the air and charred black marks covering the walls, the floors. He squeaks, face paling as Zuko turns to look at him.

“You-- your next meeting is in ten minutes, Your Majesty,” he says in a high-pitched, slightly panicked voice, and Zuko wonders how he got so unlucky to have been the one to be told to seek him out and tell him this. “Your ministers are waiting for you in the council room.”

“Understood,” Zuko says, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. “You may go.”

The servant bows, then flees the room. The silence in his absence is deafening.

Zuko pulls himself to his feet.

His feet drag through the destruction he’s caused as he picks up his swords and walks towards the door. White ashes float in the air, landing like snowflakes on the floor, and the room still feels heavy with heat, as though the fires never died out. His clothes are burned in places, raw pink showing beneath parts of the particularly damaged fabric.

Firebenders don’t burn easily. Everyone knows this.

Zuko knows it well.

Servants and guards alike stare as he walks to the council room, the air cool against his burns and his hot, too hot, skin. He leaves a trail of ashes as he walks, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. He can’t bring himself to care about everyone staring, either. They always stare, but at least they’re doing it openly, this time. How horrible must he look for them to be practically gaping at him?

 _(Frightening_ is a better word, _powerful,_ but Zuko doesn’t know this.)

He’s reminded of how it was when he first took off his bandages on his ship, thirteen years old and branded with a fresh burn on his face, too proud to admit how frightened he was at his own reflection. Zuko keeps his head up as high as he did back then, and he ignores the stares of the people around him.

He can still smell the smoke of Ozai’s belongings going up in flames. He wonders who will clean the room, who will sweep the ashes out of the space. He wonders if the room will be filled up with new training equipment or not.

If he says not to, none of those things will happen. They’ll have to listen to him.

He’s the Fire Lord.

_"I trust him--”_

_"More than you trust yourself?”_

Zuko closes his eyes as he turns the corner, suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness. He reaches out to balance himself against the wall, but a mere touch turns into him leaning heavily against the stone, a hand to his forehead as he grimaces.

Is this how power is affecting him? Self-destruction? Zuko had really thought his only two options were going to be Ozai’s mad power-grab or Azula’s collapse. It’s not surprising that this is what it’s turning out to be, but he’s a little disappointed by how predictable it is.

He wonders what Mai would think if she saw him like this.

 _Mai._ Fuck. What _would_ she think if she saw him like this? 

He pulls himself upright and starts back down the hallway.

He walks slowly, overwhelmed with exhaustion, and tries to see himself through the eyes of the servants and guards for a moment. The Fire Lord, lacking sleep and food, covered in ashes and burns and smelling of smoke, walking like a ghost with his swords through the palace’s hallways. It must be quite the sight to see. No wonder they’re all staring.

He reaches the council room. The guards at the doors don’t bother concealing their shock at his appearance. For the first time during his rule, Zuko doesn’t bother acknowledging them.

Zuko pushes past the guards, a sudden determination (and anger, so much anger) seizing him with alarming force. The guards stumble aside without protest, watching with slightly opened mouths.

Zuko is the Fire Lord. Not Ozai. _Zuko_ is. And his ministers could stand to receive a reminder.

Ozai may have been right. And Zuko will play his game if he has to.

The determination that he’d had when he was told he needed to capture the Avatar to return home was desperate, raw, _hopeful_ , and it made him all of those things, too _._ The determination he had when he decided to join the Avatar and teach him firebending was steel; it was unyielding and unflinching on the Day of Black Sun when he met Ozai’s eyes and gave back what he was given.

This determination burns hot and roaring and _angry._ Because he may not know what he’s doing, but at least he’s trying. The same cannot be said for his ministers. They have all of the power to do the right thing, but they are putting in no effort whatsoever. They talk of his own incompetence _(weakness)_ while they sit back and do nothing.

Zuko is alone, yes, but he has been alone before. And he has made it through every single time.

He makes up his mind.

The doors fly open. All of his ministers' heads turn towards him. Eyes widen as they land on Zuko, backs straightening up, and he can only imagine what they’re seeing. Fire Lord Zuko, sixteen (very nearly seventeen) years old with charred, burned, loose-fitting workout clothes on his ramrod straight back and a sprinkling of ashes in his hair and shoulders, the smell of smoke blown into the room with his presence, clinging to his clothes and his skin. His top knot came loose a long time ago, and his dark hair hangs freely around his face, framing features that would make him look like Ozai if not for his scar.

But he is not Ozai.

A sharp, biting smile pulls at the corner of Zuko’s lip, the tip of his canine just barely revealed.

_(You will learn respect--)_

“Let’s try this again,” Zuko says quietly.

_(--and suffering will be your teacher.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that progress is ambiguous, arbitrarily defined, really fucking messy, and definitely isn't a straight line. So was that progress?? Zuko definitely doesn't know and he'll be having a crisis over it next chapter. Even though it was so fucking good to write oh my god I'm just. Anyways, I've had that last scene written out for weeks now?? I couldn't wait any longer to post it which is why this chapter is so ridiculously long AGAIN lmao. I've just accepted that chapters are going to average around 7-8k words at this point.
> 
> And for everyone waiting on Azula - me too. ME TOO. The amount of restraint I've had to show to not just skip over plot-relevant chapters to go straight to her redemption is incalculable. But dw, she's coming, and when she comes, she's coming in with the intensity of twenty tanks and the sun itself. I want to say we have 2-3 chapters left in this transitional arc? Maybe 4 if the politics get out of hand. After that, it's the Search and the beginning of a certain redemption arc ;))
> 
> I can't thank you enough for all of your kind words on the last chapter. It seriously kept me going. I want to hug all of you?? But I'll settle for responding to all of your comments and freaking out in the end notes of each chapter LMAO. I've smiled so much since starting this fic thanks to all of you. Thank you <3 <3
> 
> Come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	16. introspection / reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He keeps thinking and thinking and thinking, thinking himself back into circles that he’s walked ever since Ozai banished him, and the paths are worn to the ground, now, but he still gets lost in them every single time.
> 
> He just wants Mother back. That’s all. That’s it.
> 
> That’s it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!!!
> 
> Okay. I have been... gone? There are reasons why, and the short answer is 1) personal stuff and 2) this chapter was a goddamn bitch that demanded that I re-outline everything AGAIN and write 6 (that's not even an exaggeration) separate drafts before I landed on this one. I feel really bad about giving such a short chapter after the longer-than-usual-absence, but this is how it worked out pacing-wise. Hopefully the next chapter's usual ~8k word madness will compensate for it.
> 
> I know a lot of my stuff is inherently introspective to begin with, but this one? If it's not your thing, it might be a little boring for you, but I promise it's all necessary. Part of the reason I had so much trouble with this chapter was because I literally could not figure out a way to start transitioning into the Search. This is (plus a lot of shifting things around) the best that I could come up with. It sets things up as efficiently as I could get them to be done. It was supposed to be a lot longer, darker, political, and a lot more.... I don't want to say _lonely? _But yeah, that. I think this is better, honestly. I'm moving the heavy politics for after the Search, so look forward to that!__
> 
> __(Also, the chapter is called introspection / _reunion _for a reason... hint hint wink wink)___ _
> 
> ____Phew. Okay. Sorry again for the shorter, mediocre chapter. It's more of a transition than anything. I hope you enjoy regardless, and I promise the next one will be better <3_ _ _ _
> 
> ____CW: some non-explicit references towards suicidal thoughts_ _ _ _

_One. Two._

Zuko couldn’t sleep again.

_One. Two._

Of course.

_One. Two._

So he’s here. In the training room. Not in the one he burned down, obviously; he’s back in the room that he used when he and Azula were children. He technically isn’t supposed to be using this room, but he’s the Fire Lord. No one is going to stop him from doing what he wants in his own palace.

_One. Two._

Zuko stops, dropping into a crouch. He wipes his forehead, dotted with sweat, and takes a few slow, deep breaths.

Ozai was right.

He can’t stop thinking about that. Ozai was _right._ And his advice not only worked, but it helped him to an extent that he never thought possible. Not only are his ministers fully complying with what he requested of them, but they’re also treating him with respect. Real respect. Most of them are, at least, and even if their bows aren’t quite as low as they were under Ozai, even if their tones are still slightly condescending, he’ll take what he can get.

They’re not outright disobeying him. And, yes, it’s a low bar to set, but it’s an improvement.

Zuko stands back up. He closes his eyes, letting his breathing slow back into a normal pace, and starts again.

He can’t say that he regrets going to Ozai. His advice worked, after all, and Zuko was right: Ozai was the best person to go to for advice on handling the throne. He’s a former Fire Lord, after all, who rose to power in circumstances remarkably like Zuko’s.

But he doesn’t particularly enjoy the knowledge that he’s frightened his ministers into submission.

Zuko shoves his hands out in a wide arc, flames billowing around him.

But was that really what he did? The expressions on his ministers’ faces when he sat down on the throne to look down on all of them weren’t expressions of fear, necessarily. Not like they were when he’d burst into the room, bringing the remnants of fire and destruction with him. No, when he finally took his seat at the front of the room, they were looking at him with… 

Awe? Surprise? Wariness? Anticipation? Something of the sort. But not fear.

And that’s where Ozai was right, in some weird, twisted way. Zuko has been holding back this entire time, letting his ministers talk over him with no consequence. By displaying his power, though in a much more extreme version of what he did with his generals, he’s reminded them that he has the ability to--

No. He’s reminded them who the Fire Lord is. And he has a feeling that this reminder will stick more than his words will.

Zuko punches two blasts of fire into the air a little more aggressively than the kata requires. It feels like he keeps going in circles to try and justify what he did. Because while he doesn’t regret doing it, he also doesn’t know if he should.

He doesn’t know what to think, either. In normal circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have had a problem with what he did, especially given the results. But the fact that Ozai’s hand played a part in his triumph makes everything feel… different. Darker. Not what he wanted.

Would he have done it even if he didn’t go to Ozai for advice? He isn’t sure. He might not have ended up in the state that he was in while he was in the training room if he hadn’t gone, but he isn’t sure about that, either. It’s very likely that he would’ve still broken down, would’ve still finally snapped and gone to his ministers smelling of smoke with fire licking at his tongue.

His conversations with Uncle and Aang and Sokka were progress, clearly defined and straight-forward. But this has too much of Ozai to be certain, too many thoughts of _weak_ and _failure_ and _just like Father_ to know if he’s done what he should have.

_“The Fire Lord’s word is the truth, and he therefore can do no wrong.”_

“Shut up,” Zuko mutters. He slashes his foot into a high kick, finishing the kata, and then drops back to the ground, exhausted.

Maybe he did the wrong thing, maybe he’ll regret this in the future. But his ministers respect him, he got his plans through, and he doesn’t regret it now. And the fact that he’s questioning his choices because of Ozai has to mean something, doesn’t it? Regardless of whether he took Ozai’s advice or not, he’s picking it apart right now, and that’s something.

Azula wouldn’t be doing this. She wouldn’t be questioning the source of a result like he is now. If it worked, she would accept it and move on.

Zuko breathes, deep and measured. He tastes smoke and embers on his tongue.

He stands back up.

He should visit Azula. He knows that he should, but he just-- he just. He doesn’t know.

He’s afraid of what he might see. He told Sato to treat her differently, but what else is the woman supposed to do? In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t thought about what other options she might’ve had, and how is he to expect her to put herself and her employees in danger by facing Azula without proper defenses? They can’t firebend at a firebending prodigy like her, can’t shoot her with drugs or strap her down and put her in darkness when Zuko has told them not to.

After a moment of consideration, Zuko shifts his feet into a lighter stance, one that he’s seen Aang fall into. He twists his hands a few times, warming them up again.

But when, then, will he visit? When he’s contacted other nations to find out what they do with cases like Azula? When the healthcare system has been completely reformed?

Zuko starts trying to mimic some of the movements he’s seen Aang do. Broader, smoother, lighter.

He doesn’t know what he’d say to her, either. The few conversations they’ve had have been tense at best, life-threatening at worst. If he went to her now, when she’s likely under better treatment (hopefully), she’ll be a greater danger to him than before.

He’s disgusted by his own selfishness. He’s a coward. A shitty brother.

_(She’s no better of a sister.)_

The fire that emerges from his hands and feet with these movements is wilder, less contained. He stops, not wanting to burn down another room.

He misses Mother.

Zuko closes his eyes, letting his head fall back so his face is towards the ceiling.

It’s just this kind of day, he supposes. Too much thinking.

Ozai said that Mother was merely banished, not killed or sentenced to death. She could still be alive. He hasn’t asked him about her whereabouts since his coronation, and the answer that he gave him was so vague, so taunting, that Zuko hadn’t even bothered to repeat his question when he returned to him.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried looking for her. One of the first things he did upon assuming the throne was to send out search parties, but he knew, despite these efforts, in the back of his mind, that without Ozai’s aid, there would be no chance of finding her.

(If she’s even still alive.)

A sudden surge of energy overtaking him, Zuko launches to his feet. This time, he takes a more rooted stance, not unlike what he’s seen from Toph. When he summons fire with these movements, with strong, deliberate motions backed by muscle and brute force, the fire comes out in concentrated bursts.

He should look for her. Should do _something._ He’s been so focused on other things that he hasn’t even stopped to think about beginning to repair the mess of his family, and now all he can think about is what that delegate in Ba Sing Se was telling him. He can hardly claim to stand for peace and love and unity when his family is anything but. A missing mother, a broken sister, a power-addicted father, and Zuko, the son and the brother who has somehow managed to land himself on a throne that he didn’t even _want._

Uncle didn’t want the throne, either. But he was more qualified to take it than Zuko is.

Zuko stops, breathing hard.

After a moment, he closes his eyes again, resting his cheek into his palm, chest shaking with suppressed laughter.

 _Fuck,_ this is so stupid. He keeps thinking and thinking and thinking, thinking himself back into circles that he’s walked ever since Ozai banished him, and the paths are worn to the ground, now, but he still gets lost in them every single time.

He just wants Mother back. That’s all. That’s it.

That’s it.

Zuko glances to the side. It’s sunset, the sky ablaze with fiery oranges and soft pinks and muted blues, clouds smeared like paint on canvas. He wonders if any of the other members of his family are looking at the sky.

Ozai wouldn’t be able to. Zuko doesn’t even know where Mother would be, so it’s unlikely she is. Uncle is all the way across the world, so he definitely isn’t.

Azula… Azula might be.

Zuko shakes his head, clearing it.

His limbs are heavy with exhaustion. All of the energy that he gained from the rice cakes he managed to nibble at earlier in the day has been completely burned off. He feels a little like he might pass out on the spot.

But.

Zuko turns his attention to a training dummy in the middle of the room. He eyes it for a moment, debating.

It’s not really a question if he should work himself to collapse. It’s the only way to get his mind to stop, to _pause,_ if only for just a few moments.

So.

Zuko slashes an arc of fire particularly aggressively, almost burning the training dummy into ashes. He quickly suppresses the flames before they get too far, then starts again, this time tugging a knife out of the sheath strapped to his leg. He flips it in his hand.

He doesn’t hold back. Now that he has a singular target to focus his attention on, the rest of the world melts away. His thoughts are finally silenced, replaced by the near-silent hum of concentration, lips parted, eyes narrowed, muscles straining and skin burning with every movement.

Zuko runs a hand through his hair to get it away from his face, wiping sweat off of his forehead before launching himself into a series of blurred, dizzyingly fast motions, trying not to think about his ministers, about Ozai, about Mother, about Azula, about Uncle, about his friends, about _Mai,_ and spirits, he needs to write back to Uncle and everyone else, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, doesn’t know what to do when he’s visited Ozai and Azula but hasn’t talked to the people who have always been there for him, and--

Zuko incinerates the training dummy.

He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, staring at the pile of ashes in front of him.

He really didn’t mean to do that.

Zuko grabs a towel and buries his face into it, doing his best to regain control of his breathing.

_Fuck._

He’s not sure if he’s breathing so hard because of the physical exertion or because he’s on the verge of a panic attack, but either way, the towel helps a little, and he refuses to allow himself to break down in a training room again. He lifts his head, tossing the towel to the side and slinging his swords back over his shoulder, before tucking his knife back into the strap on his leg and walking out of the room.

There aren’t any servants in this part of the palace. It’s a child’s place, laced with memories of echoing laughter and shouted taunts, and holds no place for the person that Zuko has become. It has become much too big and much too small all at once.

Zuko turns the corner, into a wash of orange sunlight, and stops dead in his tracks.

There’s someone in the hallway.

Zuko’s first thought is _assassin,_ but no, this person isn’t on guard, holding themself with the perfect posture that comes with being raised as nobility. They’re wearing a traveling cloak, the black fabric absorbing all of the warmth from the setting sun.

The person stops walking when they catch sight of Zuko. Backlit by the sun, golden orange outlining their figure, they lower the hood of their cloak, revealing sharp features and glossy black hair and--

“Mai?”

There’s no question about it. For a moment, the two of them just stand there, staring, neither of them moving. They’re both in similar states of shock, and distantly, Zuko wonders if she hadn’t quite meant to meet him this way. He certainly hadn’t been.

“I…” Zuko opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He tries again. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for at least another week.”

Neither of them move. Neither of them say anything.

The sun dips lower and lower in the sky.

Mai steps forward at last, her wry smile visible even from the distance that she’s at. “Missed you, too,” she drawls.

And that’s all it takes.

In just a few long strides, Zuko closes the gap between them, Mai doing the same, and they’re crashing into each other’s arms, gripping each other like lifelines in the middle of the open ocean. They’re standing, completely unguarded, in an open hallway with the night air and the moon and zero protection from potential threats, but all Zuko can focus on is how firmly Mai’s arms are wrapped around him, how her face is pressed into his shoulder like she’s afraid to let go. Right now, right here, it’s just the two of them, just _Mai,_ and there could be another war being declared and Zuko wouldn’t bother to move.

He hardly realizes that he’s trembling until Mai pulls away slightly, taking his hands into hers and pressing them against his chest.

“Hey,” she says a little hoarsely, and he thinks that there are the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes.

“Hi,” rasps Zuko. He smiles, can’t help it, and Mai smiles back, a similarly bewildered and relieved expression on her own face. He’s not really sure he can describe it accurately. _Overwhelmed_ might be the best word.

“You never wrote back,” says Mai. “I can’t say I expected you to.”

“You’re back early,” Zuko says. “It worked out, I guess.”

“Hm.” Mai looks at him sharply, arching an eyebrow, and Zuko feels his smile widen slightly at the familiarity of the look. “You look terrible.”

Zuko winces slightly. Mai squeezes his hands.

“I should’ve come back sooner,” she says quietly. “Despite what I said, I didn’t actually intend on staying that long. I meant to stay for just a week.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko says quickly. “I didn’t think you would be back for awhile.”

Mai nods shortly, and there’s a moment where neither of them move. Then Mai closes the distance between them again, wrapping him up in her arms, and he melts into her grip, letting himself relax in a way that he hasn’t been able to until now. His shoulders slump, his head drops, his eyes close, and he breathes her in, focusing on the feeling of her heartbeat against his chest.

"You smell like smoke,” mumbles Mai.

“I might’ve burned a training dummy,” admits Zuko, and he can feel Mai’s incredulous expression as she scrunches her nose against him. “It’s okay, though. I didn’t get hurt.”

 _This time,_ he doesn’t say, but maybe Mai can hear it anyways, because she pulls away again. She looks at him, holding his arms, her gaze searching.

And Zuko holds her gaze.

“Look,” he says, then stops, because he isn’t quite sure where he’s going with this. He swallows. “We need to get past what we were arguing about before. I don’t know if our relationship will hold if we don’t move on from it.”

“I can’t move on if you don’t tell me,” says Mai rather bluntly. “I know neither of us are good at opening up, but it’s something we have to do if we want to make this work.”

“I know.” Zuko runs a hand over his cheek, closing his eyes briefly. “I know.”

Mai waits.

_Okay._

"Do you want to do this somewhere else?” she asks. “We can--”

“No,” says Zuko quickly. “No, I-- I’m going to do it now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it out if we wait any longer.”

Mai nods again. “Okay,” she says.

Zuko looks away, then back at Mai. She’s watching him patiently, waiting.

“I--” Zuko breaks off. He tries again. “I didn’t-- It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you about… everything. It’s more that I just… I’ve never really considered myself a priority. After I got better, it genuinely just slipped my mind. There seemed like there were more important things than--”

“Than your own well-being?” asks Mai.

Zuko presses his lips together. “Yeah.”

The sun has set. Shadows crease the hallways, folding along the edges and darkening the space.

He remembers how he didn’t lift a hand to stop the assassin in his bedroom, how he didn’t tell anyone about the poison in the food. Maybe it’s a bigger issue than not considering himself a priority.

 _"I’m beginning to wonder if we’re doing you a favor by trying to kill you.”_

“Okay,” says Mai, and Zuko’s eyes flick back to her. Her expression is completely neutral, but Zuko knows her well enough to recognize the faint outline of grim understanding in her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. If I’d known--”

“You acted just as you should’ve,” Zuko interrupts, shaking his head. “You’re right. You deserved to know. I’m-- I’m glad you pushed.”

Mai wraps her arms around herself, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I really am. I shouldn’t have left, at least. I kept-- I left you when you needed me. Again. I thought I was getting better at this, but I just--”

“Hey,” says Zuko, thoroughly and completely overwhelmed by how quickly their usual roles have reversed. He takes her hands, wrapping her arms back around him. Her head falls against his chest. “Remember what you told me in the library? We’re going to keep screwing up, but what matters is that we keep trying. Don’t beat yourself up about this. If you’re angry at yourself, you should be murdering me right about now.”

“I haven’t said that I wouldn’t,” says Mai. She reaches up, gently tracing the edge of his jawline with her thumb, and he subconsciously leans into the delicate gesture. “But I’ll save my deliberations for tomorrow.”

She looks up, then, narrowing her eyes at him. “We’re good?” she asks a little carefully.

“Always,” says Zuko.

“Good.” Mai pulls away, and Zuko immediately misses the absence of her hand. “You’re going to take a bath, I’m going to get some food from the kitchens, we’re going to eat, and then we’re going to go to bed.”

“Okay,” Zuko says, smiling. “I missed you. A _lot."_

Mai rolls her eyes, cheeks flushing. “I missed you, too,” she mutters. She shoves him slightly. “Go. You’re all sweaty.”

"Alright, alright, I’m going.”

But Mai grabs him as he’s turning away.

“What?” asks Zuko. She doesn’t say anything for a few heartbeats, hand tightening around his wrist. Her fingertips press lightly into the bone where his hand meets his wrist.

“You know I love you,” she says, so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear it, her lips softening around the words, “right?”

Zuko blinks at her.

“Yeah,” he says. He clears his throat softly. “Yeah. I, uh. I think I do.”

“Then you’ll try?”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. She never has to. Zuko meets her gaze.

“Yeah,” he says again, and he means it. “I will.”

She lets his arm go, nodding. They look at each other.

“I love you,” says Zuko. Mai smiles slightly.

“I love you, too."

\---

For the first time in weeks, the bed is warm, and Zuko sleeps, uninterrupted, for the whole night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this on my Tumblr already, but writing the next chapter has officially turned me into a full blown maiko shipper. Is this where I thought I would end up? No. I'm not mad about it in the slightest, though.
> 
> .... Yeah, I'm not super pleased with this chapter. I hope you enjoyed regardless, though! I'm going to very carefully guess that this transitional arc will end in about 2 chapters? Do NOT hold me to that.
> 
> Come bother me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) <3


	17. choices of the dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Monsters don't get love, Zuzu, unless they do something to deserve it."
> 
> "You're talking like Ozai."
> 
> Azula sneers. “You say that like I haven’t been working towards that exact goal for years.”
> 
> \---
> 
> Or, Zuko and Mai play with knives, Zuko and Ozai have a talk, and Azula.... Azula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!!!!
> 
> Alternative chapter title: "zuko has a knife kink" (sorry lychee i couldn't not keep it consistent LMAO)
> 
> As usual, I am less than satisfied with how this turned out. It is also 7.5k words. We're going to hit the 100k word mark really, really soon at this rate? Like next chapter? That's kind of scary??? Um. Anyways.
> 
> Why. Why are all of my chapters so long. Why.
> 
> Am I posting this chapter a day early because I simply cannot stand the idea of working anymore? No. Definitely not. I have no idea what you're talking about. I definitely am not avoiding studying right now. I am also definitely not posting this because I'm sick of editing it over and over again because it Still isn't where I want it to be, but I just have to get it out. That definitely isn't what's happening what are you talking about shut up--
> 
> The Search is literally the next chapter oh my godfjsdklfjsld I'M COMPLETELY CALM.
> 
> CW: discussion of not great eating habits throughout, descriptions of past injuries (nothing major), knives (not sure if this needs a cw since they're featured in a friendly, vaguely flirtatious context, but I'm putting it here just in case). As always, lmk if I missed anything!

It’s sunrise.

Something warm is pressed against Zuko’s back. He blinks a few times, stifling a yawn, and turns to look behind him.

Mai has her arm thrown over his waist, her legs tangled with his. Her dark hair drapes loosely over her shoulders and the white sheets, face buried into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Pink lips press against his exposed skin, parted to allow feather-light breaths to flutter over his skin, the sunlight gently outlining the slope of her nose.

She’s sleeping.

He’s maybe a little bit in love.

Zuko glances out the window, then back at Mai. He starts to gently extract himself from her hold, but then her hand tightens where it sits on his waist, and he freezes.

“Nope,” she mumbles, tugging him back down. “You’re staying here.”

“I have--”

“No, you don’t,” says Mai, eyes still closed. “I checked with your servants before I went off looking for you last night. You’re not required to be at any of the meetings today.”

Usually, that translates into  _ you really should be at the meetings. _ But considering the recent behavior of his ministers… 

“I’ll stay,” Zuko says, but Mai is already back asleep.

He wakes up several hours later with the sun high in the sky.

“Fuck,” he says, shooting upright. He winces at the sudden movement, grabbing his head as black spots swim in front of his eyes. As he blinks his eyes open, he makes eye contact with an unimpressed Mai sitting at his desk with a plate of fruit.

“Good morning,” she says. It takes Zuko a moment to realize that her hands are stained with ink, and there’s a freshly dipped brush sitting on top of the ink stone.

“Hi,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Are you writing something?”

“Yes.” Mai holds up a sheet of paper. Zuko squints at it. “The ‘intervention’ that your friends staged was a spectacular failure, especially since you elected to ignore them completely. Since you can’t avoid me, consider this the makeup.”

Zuko flops back down into bed and pulls the blankets over his head. “Goodnight."

It takes Mai less than two seconds to tug the blankets onto the floor and grab Zuko’s ankle. He yelps, her hands icy cold, and looks up in time to see Mai’s sharp smile, eyes sparkling.

“Get up,” she says. Her hair isn’t tied up in its usual style, falling around her face in glossy streaks the same color as the ink on her hands.

“I hate you,” declares Zuko, but he sits up, scooting forward so that his legs dangle off of the edge of the bed and he’s face to face with Mai. Seemingly satisfied, Mai hands him a chunk of fruit.

“Breakfast,” she says. “The cooks told me you haven’t been eating.”

“Traitors,” mutters Zuko. Then, hastily, to Mai’s raised eyebrow, he says, “I have been eating, though. I ate some rice cakes yesterday.”

Mai’s eyebrow climbs higher. There’s a prolonged silence.

“That’s it?” she asks. “Just rice cakes? You came out of the training room with singed clothes and sweat all over you, and all you had to eat that day were  _ rice cakes?” _

Zuko winces. “No?” he tries.

Mai stares.

“I can’t believe this,” she mutters. “Take the fruit, Zuko.”

“I’m not hungry--”

“It used to help me when I had trouble eating,” says Mai flatly, suddenly very serious, and Zuko falls silent, eyes wide. She’s not looking at him. “Small, bite-sized pieces of food, I mean. Still does, sometimes, when I fall back into old habits. If you’re like me, that’s probably why you’ve been going for rice cakes. Take the fruit.”

There’s a silence. Zuko stares at Mai, who still isn’t looking at him.

It’s one thing to experience it himself, and it’s another thing entirely to know that Mai, too, knows the cycle of hunger and nausea, the clench of an empty stomach and the bile that rises in dry throats. Perhaps for different reasons, but the result is the same. He’s come close to being a victim of starvation in Earth Kingdom deserts, but he never thought that Mai--

Then again, he never thought  _ he _ would go hungry ever again once he got back to the palace. Especially not by choice.

“Mai,” he says quietly. “Do you want to--”

“No,” she says, and she doesn’t quite  _ snap _ it, but she says it with enough force that the message is clear. “It’s in the past. Take the fruit, and stop thinking about it.”

Zuko takes the fruit. But he doesn’t stop thinking about it.

Mai flattens the paper out on the desk and picks up the brush. “Okay,” she says briskly, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “You haven’t told me anything that has been happening to you, and I haven’t told anything that’s been happening to me. We can do that later. Right now, I want to make a list of everything that you need to do every single day. Starting with eating actual meals.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “I don’t need that,” he says.

“You clearly do,” says Mai flatly. “I’ll baby you if I have to. You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping; hell, it seems like the only thing you have been doing is working yourself to death and avoiding assassination attempts.”

“How did you know--”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Mai offers him another piece of fruit. Zuko takes it.

“I love you,” says Zuko. Mai narrows her eyes at him, the brush stilling on the paper.

“I’m still making this list,” she says. “You can’t distract me into not forcing you to take care of yourself.”

“It was worth a shot.”

Mai throws a slice of fruit at him.

“Today,” she says, “you’re not doing any work. I’ve been asking around, and it sounds like you’ve nearly run yourself into the ground.”

“Not recently,” protests Zuko. “I sorted things out with my ministers. Things are easier, now.”

“Good,” says Mai, “because you’re staying with me all day.”

“Mai--”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to  _ die. _ I hate doing nothing.”

“Sucks. You should’ve thought of that before you tried to take on everything at once.”

_ "Mai.” _

Mai looks up.

“Let’s spar,” says Zuko. Mai immediately rolls her eyes, turning back to the paper.

“No,” she says.

“Mai.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I know you want to. When was the last time that you used your knives?”

Mai pauses. “Last night, actually.”

Zuko falls back onto the bed again. “Mai,” he says to the ceiling. “Come on. You can’t tell me that you don’t want to spar. The last time we fought was…”

" The war,” supplies Mai, and Zuko can hear the wry smile in her voice. “You really want to do it?”

_ “Yes.” _

“Did you actually get  _ more _ dramatic after I left?”

Zuko sits up. “Will you spar with me?” he asks in formal Fire. Mai looks like she’s either about to start laughing or throw fruit at him.

She throws more fruit at him. He eats them, since that’s clearly the intention.

“My knives, your swords?” she asks dryly. “I don’t think that’ll end very well.”

Zuko shrugs. He slides off of the bed, getting to his feet, and takes a piece of fruit for himself. “We’ve made it work,” he says. “Besides, you’ll be more bored than I am, cooped up in here. It’s a win-win for both of us.”

“You’re really sure about this?”

The smile that spreads across Zuko’s face is more genuine than he means it to be. “Completely,” he says.

\---

“I take it back,” says Zuko. “I’m not sure about this at all.”

Mai is offering him a blade. His swords are on the ground, still sheathed.

“Seriously,” Zuko says. “This is a terrible idea.”

Mai rolls her eyes. “Relax,” she says. “I’m not going to stab you. It’s about time you learned how to do this properly, anyways. Most assassins are going to be carrying knives, and you should know how to handle yourself in a long-range fight.”

“So this isn’t so that you can make me fall on my ass and humiliate myself?”

Mai smiles. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

Reluctantly, Zuko reaches out and accepts the shuriken. It’s small, pointy, red like the rest of Mai’s blades. He turns it around in his hands a few times, then glances up at Mai.

“You sure?” he asks. “Really, really sure? I might end up stabbing something.”

“That’s what the target is for,” says Mai. “Get into position.”

Zuko shifts his feet. Mai takes his arm, poking and prodding until she’s satisfied with his stance.

“Are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to?” Zuko asks. Mai’s hands still.

“Maybe,” she says. She nudges his shoulder, and he relaxes it. “Keep yourself loose. It’ll be harder if you’re all stiff and weird when you throw.”

“Wow,” says Zuko. “You’re great at explaining things.”

“I’m great at everything.”

Zuko looks at Mai expectantly. She meets his eyes, lips pursed.

“It’s a bit serious,” she says, quietly, like she’s admitting something she didn’t quite mean to. “What happened while I was gone, I mean. I don’t know if we should talk about it when I’m trying to get you to relax.”

“I’m going to find out eventually.” He gives an experimental twist of his wrist, getting used to the lightness of the shuriken in his hand. “And I can’t think of anything dramatic that would happen to you in a flower shop.”

Mai snorts. She pulls out a shuriken of her own from her sleeve. “You’d be surprised,” she says.

She throws the blade. It whizzes through the air and lands perfectly on the target, dead-center. Zuko can’t stop his eyebrows from raising, vaguely impressed despite knowing that that would be the outcome. He smiles at Mai.

“Nice,” he says. She rolls her eyes, but there’s a note of pride in there.

“Your turn,” she says. “It’s not a sword, so don’t think of it as one.”

“Is it really a good idea for me to be throwing knives so soon?”

“When has safety ever bothered you?”

It’s a good point. Zuko throws the knife. It sails past the target, nicking the edge, and lands with a clang on the floor.

“Hm,” says Mai. “Not bad.”

“Really?”

“You did technically hit the target. That’s something.”

Zuko sighs, and Mai laughs. He goes over to pick the shuriken up, being careful not to cut himself on any of the edges.

“I’ll tell you about what happened after you tell me about what you’ve been up to,” says Mai, once Zuko is back at her side. Zuko gets back into the right stance, holding his arm up, and Mai adjusts him accordingly. Her hands are firm, callused, and he can see faint scars uplifted on the pale skin of her palms, likely from her own blades. He resists the urge to run his own hands over them.

“You guessed right,” says Zuko. “Assassination attempts. One of them threw a knife at me, actually. That was different. I, uh, almost got poisoned again, too. And one of the assassins ended up killing herself after Captain Huang had her restrained. And you know about the whole…”

Zuko waves his free hand in the air, thoroughly encapsulating the sleep deprivation, self-inflicted starvation, unintentional self-harm, conversations with hostile family members who want him dead, isolation… 

“No,” says Mai, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t know, because you haven’t told me.”

“Oh.” Zuko drops his hand. “Right.”

“Start from the beginning,” Mai says. “We have time.”

Zuko throws the knife. It misses, of course.

Shuriken throwing turns into sparring sometime after Zuko tells Mai about the attempted poisoning that he proceeded to tell absolutely no one about and Mai punches him in the chest, just a little too hard to be entirely amicable. Zuko grabs his swords, and they face off against one another under the agreement that Zuko will not firebend and Mai will not take advantage of Zuko’s general adherence to the rules of honorable combat.

This agreement evaporates in a matter of seconds.

“You went to  _ Ozai?” _ Mai says incredulously. She slashes at Zuko’s torso, ripping open a small tear in the cloth, and tries to trip him. He returns the gesture with a playful flick of flame that singes the edge of Mai’s sleeve. “Why did you think that that was a good idea?”

“I needed advice,” says Zuko. He’s forced to dodge a knife when it sails a little too close to his hand, temporarily distracting him. “Ozai is the only person with experience in what I’m going through.”

“You could’ve written to Iroh.”

“I didn’t want to bother him.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know.”

Zuko stops moving. So does Mai.

“And…” Zuko sighs, lifting a hand to touch his face before thinking better of it, eyes landing on the sword still in his grip. He drops his hand. “I don’t know, Mai. It seemed like a good idea at the time. When you found me last night, coming out of the training room, I’d just been thinking about this. I didn’t-- I still don’t really know what to think about it.”

“Then don’t,” says Mai simply. “You said that his advice worked, right? There’s no point in dwelling over it if it’s already done.”

“Yeah, but…” He trails off, then shakes his head, readying his swords once more. “It’s nothing. Forget about it.”

He swipes a little half-heartedly at Mai with the blade, but she deflects easily.

“You’re worried about becoming him,” she says, and Zuko stills.

“Well, yeah,” he says, when the silence stretches on for too long. “Of course I am.”

“You know that you’re not, right?” Mai flips the shuriken around in her hands. “You’re not him. You never will be him.”

Zuko doesn’t look at her.

“But,” he says, and he hates how quiet his voice is, “if I do what he did, doesn’t that make me as bad? Doesn’t that--”

“No,” says Mai flatly, firmly. “No, it doesn’t. I’m stopping you right there. The fact that you’re agonizing over this means that you aren’t him. It means that you won’t become him. Ozai would’ve  _ executed _ his ministers if they’d attempted to defy him in the way that they’ve been defying you. You know that, I know that, and they definitely know that. You put your foot down in a kinder, more honorable way, and that is what differentiates you from Ozai.”

Zuko smirks a little. “You pulled the honor card,” he says.

“Don’t deflect,” snaps Mai. “You know that, right? You aren’t him. You can grow your hair out, you can lose the scar, you can lose your temper a few times, but that doesn’t make you him. You’ll  _ never _ be him.”

Zuko swallows, humor forgotten. He looks at Mai, her eyes hard and steeled, and then back at the ground.

“Thanks,” he says softly. Mai just sighs.

“You don’t believe me,” she says. “But you will. I can promise that.”

She flicks her hands, and two more blades appear, perfectly positioned between her fingers. Zuko doesn’t even bother asking where they come from.

“Ready?” she asks. Zuko grins.

“Ready.”

Somewhere along the way, Zuko switches to the dagger sheathed at his leg. Mai holds her own blades after he does that, matching him blow-for-blow in close range combat.

“You’re rusty,” Mai notes. “When was the last time you used a knife?”

“Last night,” says Zuko. Mai wrinkles her nose at the echo of her own words from earlier.

“You’re not planning on visiting Ozai again, are you?” she asks. The tip of her blade opens another tear in Zuko’s clothes, this time close to his thigh. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind, but I want to make sure.”

Zuko is quiet for just a few seconds too long. Mai takes advantage of his pause and slams him up against the wall, a blade held to his neck and a hand catching his wrist, pressing it by his head. His head is tilted back up against the wall, throat bared. He can feel his blood pumping throughout his entire body, vision sharpened with adrenaline.

They’re both breathing hard, chests heaving, the only sound between them.

“He’s the only one who knows where Mother might be,” Zuko says, breaking the tense silence. His eyes meet Mai’s.

“You’re the Fire Lord,” says Mai softly. He can feel the quick, butterfly-wing-fast beat of her pulse where her hand is pinning his wrist to the wall. “You can send out search parties, can put up rewards--”

“I’ve tried,” Zuko rasps. “I’ve tried already. Nothing’s come out of it. He’s the only one who knows where she could be.”

“You’re going to visit him again.”

Zuko swallows. Mai’s eyes flick down to his throat, tracing the movement.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

Mai’s hand tightens around his wrist. “You’re an idiot,” she says. The knife is so close that he can almost feel the press of sharpened metal against his skin.

“I need to know where she is,” he says. He can feel her breath brushing the top of his collarbone.

“What if she’s--”

“I still have to know.”

Mai falls silent. All Zuko can feel is her hand on his wrist, the knife at his throat. It’s all that matters.

“Okay,” says Mai quietly. Her voice is low, slightly gravely. “Then promise me this.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll write to your friends and to your uncle about everything that has happened in the past few days. And after that, you’ll take me down to the prison with you so that you can talk to Ozai. You aren’t going alone.”

“Mai--”

“That’s the deal,” Mai says sharply. “You’re not going if you don’t agree to those terms.”

Zuko huffs a laugh. He looks down at Mai, at her narrowed eyes and cheeks flushed from exertion. “Are you going to stop me if I don’t?”

Mai’s eyebrows arch. She turns the knife, pressing the flat part against his throat, cool metal kissing delicate skin.. Zuko goes completely still, eyes wide.

“You know very well that I’m more than capable of doing so,” she says quietly.

Zuko doesn’t think he’d be able to speak, even if he wanted to. His face feels burning hot, pulse quickening from something that definitely isn’t adrenaline, and, by the smile as sharp as her blades on her face, it hasn’t escaped Mai’s notice.

Mai pulls away, but Zuko stays where he is, practically frozen to the wall. He watches Mai start to pick up the blades scattered all over the ground. She turns around, giving him a  _ look. _

“Are you going to help me?” she asks.

Zuko blinks a few times. “Yeah,” he says, slowly relaxing his shoulders. He rubs his wrist absent-mindedly, giving Mai a self-conscious smile. “Yeah, I’ll help.”

“Great. Catch.”

Zuko dodges the knife Mai throws at him, locking eyes with her as it whizzes past him. She cocks her head expectantly, picking up another shuriken and moving as if to throw it at him again.

Yeah. He’s definitely in love.

\---

_ Suki, _

_ I’ve just sent a letter off to the Earth King inviting him to send healers to the Fire Nation. The same invitation/request went off to Chief Arnook. Do me a favor and make sure that it gets to him? Thanks for letting me know about the political unrest in Ba Sing Se, by the way. We still haven’t exchanged ambassadors with the Earth Kingdom - with any of the nations, actually, but the lack of communication from the Earth Kingdom has been particularly concerning. Seriously - thank you so much. _

_ The letter really is important, though. I’d really appreciate it if you could keep an eye out for it. _

_ I want to apologize for not responding sooner. I haven’t written back to anyone since everyone decided to stage an intervention at the exact same time (the timing was genuinely impressive). I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to write back to everyone, but I figured the least that I could do would be to write to you. You seemed to get it the best out of everyone. Besides, Mai is back, and I think she’s actually going to murder me if I don’t respond to at least one person. _

_ I have a lot to say, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to say it here for a variety of reasons. If we see each other, I’ll try and tell you then.  _

_ Still, I really do appreciate your concern. I appreciate everyone else’s, too, and I want to write back to them all, but I just… don’t know what to say. You’re easier to talk to. It helps that we can talk about politics as a buffer, I guess. _

_ I miss you. I owe you that sparring match. Hold me to it. _

_ Zuko _

\---

“Come out if you get uncomfortable,” says Mai. “No later than that.”

Zuko smirks. “I’m always uncomfortable with him,” he says. “I’ll come out if I start to feel like he’s going to murder me.”

Mai does not smile.

They’re in the prison, torches burning on the walls, standing right outside of Ozai’s cell. It somehow looks less and more daunting with Mai by his side - less in that he has company, more in that someone he loves is here. There is a sense of safety and a sense of insecurity warring in his mind, and he can’t help but think that it’s terribly appropriate.

“I’m pulling you out after ten minutes,” says Mai firmly, and Zuko starts to protest, but she lifts a hand. “Ten minutes. That’s more than enough time to talk.”

“Mai--”

“Ten minutes.”

Zuko presses his lips together. “Fine,” he says. “But don’t come in. Just knock on the door when it’s time.”

Mai nods. Zuko opens the door.

Ozai is seated exactly where he was before. He lifts his head when the door opens, light flooding the room, and keeps his eyes on Zuko as he closes it behind him. Zuko steps forward, coming to a stop right in front of the cell.

He does not kneel this time.

“No tea?” asks Ozai after a silence. His voice sounds more hoarse than last time, like he’s strained his throat. It reminds Zuko a little too much of Azula.

“No,” says Zuko.

“You’re dressed properly, too,” Ozai notes, eyes running over Zuko’s regalia. His eyes linger on the crown for just a heartbeat too long before cutting back to meet his eyes. “And it’s a reasonable hour of the day. I believe it is reasonable to assume that my advice worked.”

It’s not a question. There’s a tense silence.

“I followed your advice,” says Zuko stiffly, and Ozai lifts his chin slightly, looking somewhat satisfied by the vague confirmation. “I also burned down your training room.”

_ “My _ training room?” Ozai looks amused. “Correct me if I am wrong, Zuko, but you are the Fire Lord now. That room is no longer mine.”

“Definitely not anymore,” Zuko says, but there’s something twisting in his stomach, now. He looks away, then back at Ozai, whose gaze is steady. Cold. Calculating.

“I can tell that you would rather be anywhere but here,” Ozai says. He shifts where he sits, folding his legs. “Go on. Why are you here rather than enjoying the freedom your ministers’ cooperation has granted you?”

Zuko grits his teeth, hands clenching into fists at his side. “I want you to answer the first question I asked,” he says quietly. “I know that you know where she is.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You do.”

Ozai, if possible, looks even more amused. “Perhaps,” he says. “But, tell me, Zuko. What is your plan if you find her? You may find a rotting corpse, a mere wisp of a woman who once--”

“Whatever I do,” Zuko interjects, nails digging into his palms (again, again  _ again--), _ “is none of your business. I just want to know where she is.”

Ozai’s smile widens. “I don’t know where she is,” he says, and Zuko scoffs loudly.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps.

“When have I ever lied to you?” asks Ozai. “I have nothing to gain from lying now.”

“But you have nothing to lose, either.”

That draws a laugh from Ozai. It slices the space between the two of them, and Zuko is only just barely able to stop himself from stiffening.

“You’re learning,” Ozai drawls. “It’s taken you nearly seventeen years, but you are finally learning how to play the right games.”

“Answer,” Zuko says, jaw set, “my question. Where is Mother?”

“Don’t you think,” says Ozai softly, leaning forward, tangled locks of hair framing his gaunt features, “that if she was still alive, she would have sought you out by now?”

Zuko physically flinches back, unable to stop it. Ozai’s smile widens, a thin cut across his face.

“You’re the Fire Lord now,” he says. “Her distance during my rule is easily explained, but now? It has been several months, yet she has not made an appearance. Everyone knows that you have taken the throne, that you have ended the war, that you are  _ friends _ with the Avatar. She has no reason to question your integrity, nor compare you to me.”

He’s reopened the scars on his hands again. Blood is flooding the space beneath his nails, beading on his palms.

He can’t do this. But he-- he has to. He has to stay here, has to try and--

And Zuko realizes something.

He’s tired.

He’s  _ tired. _ And he doesn’t want to be here anymore, in this cell with a man who never loved him, with a man who has done nothing but hurt him since the very beginning. Someone who clearly isn’t going to give him the information that he wants, someone who  _ lost _ the war but is acting like he won, and, in a sense, he wins every single time Zuko comes back to him. Zuko has never once wanted to be in this prison with him, but he comes anyway.

But he doesn’t have to be here. He doesn’t have to stay here.

He  _ doesn’t have to do this. _   


Ozai is watching him.

“You’re not going to tell me anything,” Zuko says. He doesn’t realize that he’s said it out loud until his eyes lock with Ozai’s. “No matter what I do, no matter what I say. You’re not going to tell me. You like holding this above me.”

He doesn’t wait for Ozai to respond. He doesn’t need him to. “Okay,” he bites out, turning away. “I’ll figure something else out. I’m done wasting my time here.”

“And what,” Ozai says, Zuko’s hand already slipping over the doorknob, “are you going to do? I am the only--”

Zuko pulls the door open and slams it shut behind him. He stands, swaying slightly, for a moment, and then slumps back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. A hand finds his head, fingers digging into his scalp.

“Zuko?” Mai’s hands are on his arms, squeezing gently. “Are you alright?”

Zuko opens his eyes. Mai’s lips are parted slightly, eyebrows drawn together. She reaches up, gently cupping the side of his face. He leans into the gesture as she runs her thumb over his lips, eyebrows slightly knitted in concern.

“I will be,” Zuko says quietly. His eyes flick to meet Mai’s. “But I need to talk to Azula.”

This, predictably, does not go over well.

\---

_ Uncle, _

_ I don’t know where to begin. _

_ I’ve been sitting here, staring at this paper, for almost ten minutes now, but I can’t think of how to start this. Mai is sitting behind me, watching me write this, and she says that apologies are always a good place to start _

_ So. I’m sorry. I pushed you away again. I don’t know why I did. _

_ I miss you. I don’t know how secure letters are with the chaos in Ba Sing Se (I hope the Jasmine Dragon is faring well despite it all), so I can’t tell you everything I’d like to. I promise I’ll fill you in when we see each other next. Hopefully soon. _

_ I promise I’m okay now - I wasn’t before, but I’m starting to get a better hold on things. Please don’t worry. _

_ I’m sorry. I love you. I miss you. _

_ Zuko _

\---

Azula isn’t lonely. She isn’t.

She’s not.

It’s just… quiet. That’s all it is.

Ever since Zuko came in shouting with his tongue wrapped in enough flames to burn the building down, Sato and the rest of the nurses haven’t even spoken to Azula. They slip her food when she’s sleeping, they escort her to the bathroom no more than twice a day. And now that she has the sun to keep herself mostly alert, she’s no longer dulled into ambivalence from the insufferable monotony of each day.

She’s not lonely; she’s bored. It’s an important distinction. And there aren’t any nurses to torment anymore, not when Zuzu has scared them all off by behaving like a proper Fire Lord.

There’s no point in attempting to escape again, either. She’s more than likely to succeed, this time, because the nurses aren’t allowed to drug her anymore, and the entire point of her escape attempts is to  _ not _ succeed.

She still has nowhere to go. It was out of sheer, stupid desperation that she tried so many times in that windowless room, and it was out of survival instincts that she did it in the prison.

At least she’s not strapped to the bed anymore.

“Eat,” says Mother, and Azula starts slightly. She narrows her eyes, glaring at Mother, who had almost certainly not been there before. “You need to eat, Azula.”

Azula turns her glare to the plate of food in front of her. Her stomach clenches uncomfortably.

“How do I know that you haven’t poisoned it?” she asks, whipping her head to look at Mother again, and she knows, she  _ knows _ how frightening her face has become in the past few days, because she hasn’t eaten a full meal in ages. “You could’ve convinced one of those nurses to do away with me right now, now that Zuzu has made their jobs harder and they don’t know what to do with me anymore.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” says Mother, the liar. “And I do not believe that that is the only reason you haven’t been eating lately.”

Azula scoffs loudly. She shoves the food away from her, upending it and setting it clattering across the room. She folds her arms pointedly and looks at Mother again.

“Whoops,” she says.

Mother doesn’t sigh, but her sad frown deepens, and Azula scowls.

That, of course, is when the door opens.

Azula turns her head to see Zuko striding into the room looking like a corpse on his feet.

Really. He could’ve at least put in some effort before showing up for the first time in nearly a month.

“Wow,” she says without thinking, and considering that she usually puts quite a bit of thought into everything she does, it’s a bit of a surprise. “You look terrible.”

Zuko stops a fairly reasonable distance away from her, arms held still at his sides. The bags under his eyes (well,  _ eye) _ have become darker since the last time she’s seen him, and though she has no mirror to truly compare, she would guess that his features are as prominent as hers are now. His jawline is a little too defined, cheekbones jutting out a little too much, and while those facts have not been particularly noteworthy on their own, there’s a hollowness to his cheeks that definitely wasn’t there before.

Hm. Her dearest brother hasn’t been eating.

Interesting.

"What happened to your hair?” Azula asks, appalled. “You didn’t think that burning it all off would be better than a simple haircut, did you?”

“Thanks,” says Zuko, eyebrow raised. “I had a situation.”

He stands there for a moment, looking a little lost, until Azula finally takes pity on him.

“Sit down,” she sighs, gesturing to one of the chairs shoved up against the walls. “Mother isn’t going to be coming back anytime soon, so you might as well take her seat.”

Zuko frowns. “Azula--”

“Sit down,” Azula repeats impatiently. “We should at least pretend to have a civil discussion.”

The corner of Zuko’s lip quirks slightly. He drags the chair to the center of the room, briefly pausing when his eyes land on the overturned plate of food, and sits down. Azula, after some hesitation, moves from the floor to the bed, not wanting to be lower than Zuko. She ignores how her body stiffens at the feeling of the mattress beneath her, and if Zuko notices, he doesn’t comment.

She makes note of how delicately he’s moving. He’s wincing almost imperceptibly with every movement, like the fabric of his robes is causing him physical pain. She narrows her eyes slightly, putting two and two together. Delicate movements, singed hair…

The idiot burned himself. It looks like it’s been a few days since the actual burning itself, but the wounds are still there, and he clearly hasn’t treated them properly.

Azula has to bite her tongue to stop herself from commenting on it. There are far more important things to worry about.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “I can’t imagine that you’re here simply to say hello.”

“That’s what I did the first time,” says Zuko. Azula rolls her eyes, because  _ really. _

“Right,” she says patiently, “and then I tried to  _ kill _ you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

“I don’t think so.” Zuko looks at her. “How are you doing?”

Azula laughs, throwing her head back so that she doesn’t have to see Zuko’s reaction to the sound. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?” she asks. “You ask every time, like I’m going to give you a different answer. How are  _ you _ doing?”

“Bad,” says Zuko simply, and Azula blinks.

“Hm,” she says.

Zuko shifts slightly. He meets Azula’s eyes unflinchingly, though, and there’s something remarkably different about how he holds himself. He’s clearly exhausted - just one look at his face tells Azula everything she needs to know about his current mental state - but there is, without a doubt, a darker fire in his eyes than before.

There’s only one thing that could’ve triggered a reaction like this.

“Something happened,” says Azula, and Zuko blinks. Jackpot. She folds her arms. “Let me guess. You went to Father, didn’t you?”

Zuko’s mouth falls open. “How did you--”

“You’ve always been terrible at hiding your emotions,” says Azula dismissively. Her lips tug into a sharp smile. “What did he say? Did he threaten to burn the other half of your face?”

She’s been thinking about that Agni Kai - though it can hardly be called an Agni Kai, if she’s being honest - a lot lately. She’s not really sure why.

Zuko doesn’t flinch, which is a vast improvement from their previous conversations, and Azula momentarily, ridiculously, feels mildly proud.

But then he says, “I came here to talk about Mother,” and that pride evaporates as quickly as a drop of water in the Si Wong Desert. Because  _ really, _ hasn’t he learned anything at all?

“No,” says Azula flatly, smile dropping right off of her face. Zuko stares right back at her.

“Don’t you wonder where she is?” he asks quietly. “If she’s safe, if she misses us--”

“She’s dead,” snaps Azula. “You would do well to remember that. I could ask her for you right now.”

(She hasn’t talked about that with Mother. It’s never come up. She doesn’t know if she wants to talk about it.)

“Ozai said--”

_ “Father,” _ Azula interrupts scathingly, “said that to give you false hope. You didn’t really believe it, did you, Zuzu? He was stalling for time that day, and he knew the only way to keep you there would be to feed you a lie with just enough of the truth in it to get by.”

For a moment, Azula thinks that she’s really, truly shattered Zuko, but the desperation is gone the next heartbeat she looks.

“No,” he says, and he says it so firmly that she almost believes him herself. Almost. “He wasn’t lying. I know what lying looks like, and Ozai wasn’t lying.”

Azula scoffs, momentarily derailed. “He’s still our father, you know,” she says scathingly. “Calling him by his name won’t change that.”

“He’s not my father anymore,” Zuko says stiffly, which is just ridiculous. Azula rolls her eyes, doesn’t even bother to respond to that.

There’s a brief silence.

“What did he say?” asks Azula, raising her eyebrows. “I’m assuming that you went to ask him about Mother.”

But instead of replying, Zuko gives her a curious look, like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“You’re different today,” he says after a moment. “You feel more… here. Like yourself.”

“Well, I suppose sunlight will do that to a person,” Azula says, relishing in the guilty look that crosses Zuko’s face. She folds her arms. “Speaking of which, I’d suggest getting out before I start firebending. It’s been awhile since I’ve had something living to aim at.”

Zuko just sighs, not making a move to leave. “Azula,” he says quietly. “You miss Mother, too, don’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” asks Azula sharply, narrowing her eyes. She scowls. “I can’t imagine anything I’ve done has led you to that conclusion. Nor anything  _ she _ has done, considering that she’s been trying to kill me since the day I was born.”

Azula might laugh at the expression on Zuko’s face if her throat wasn’t already so strained.

“She never did that, Azula,” says Zuko. “She loved you as much as she loved me--”

“How many times are you going to say that?” snaps Azula. “You keep saying it like it’ll become true if it comes out of your mouth enough. We both know that she preferred you, and we both know that she thought me a monster. Monsters don’t  _ get _ love, Zuzu, unless they do something to deserve it.”

“You’re talking like Ozai.”

Azula sneers. “You say that like I haven’t been working towards that exact goal for years.”

Zuko’s eyes widen, and Azula tightens her jaw. She stands up, swaying just slightly on her feet from lightheadedness. Had she known that Zuko would be coming in today, she might’ve eaten the food, poisoned or not, if only so that she could plant her feet firmly on the floor and hold her ground.

“You’re not him,” says Zuko, standing as well. He’s watching her carefully, like he’s waiting for something. “You’re better than him, Azula. We can find Mother, and she’ll--”

“And she’ll  _ what?” _ Azula asks, voice beginning to rise. “Corpses don’t  _ do _ anything, Zuko. I’d suggest you accept that she’s dead like the rest of us have. There’s no point in looking for a long-rotted body.”

Something flickers in Zuko’s eyes, but it’s gone the next moment as he glares at her. “You won’t even entertain the possibility?” he asks sharply. “You’re not even going to consider--”

“There is  _ nothing _ to consider!” shouts Azula. She whips her hand forward, slashing fire-laced fingers through the air. But before she can refine the movement, strengthen the flames, black spots flood her vision, and she stumbles.  _ Stumbles. _

But someone is there, steadying her just before she falls, flesh and blood and pumping veins, hands wrapped around her arms for support. Azula blinks a few times, bleary, and makes eye contact with Zuko.

For a moment, the two of them stand there, Azula hunched over and leaning heavily into his grip, and Zuko’s hands gripping her firmly.

Then, Azula punches fire into the center of his chest, and Zuko just barely manages to counter it, dispelling the flames into the air as he stumbles back. Azula grabs the side of her bed, arm trembling slightly, a hand clutching her forehead tightly against the dizziness. The world swims around her, bile rising in her mouth and burning in her throat.

“You’re malnourished,” she thinks she hears Zuko say quietly. “I asked Sato, and she said that you haven’t been eating your food. You’ve got to eat, Azula.”

Azula laughs this time, not caring how the sound drags against the sides of her raw throat. “You’re one to talk,” she says, and she’s still looking down at the ground, so she doesn’t see Zuko’s expression. She’d planned on saying more, but the words get lost somewhere on the way up, so she stays quiet.

“I’m working on that,” Zuko mutters. “You should, too. We can’t help you if you don’t make an effort, Azula.”

Azula straightens up. She refuses to sit on the bed this time, not when Zuko is standing, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stand the feeling of the mattress, anyways. “Has it ever occurred to you,” she says scathingly, “that I perhaps don’t want help?”

Zuko’s gaze is steady, if not guarded. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve not sentenced Father nor me to death,” Azula says. “You’re not really planning on keeping us alive, are you? Mother has put more effort into arranging the circumstances of my own death than you have.”

Something in Zuko’s eyes shifts, his lips parting. “You think I want to  _ kill  _ you?” he asks.

“I’m saying that I’m surprised people haven’t already called for our deaths,” corrects Azula. “I know you’re much too cowardly to make the decision yourself, but I truly was expecting there to be more push against our lives being spared. Besides, we’re the two most dangerous threats to your rule. Eliminating us would eliminate the problem.”

“You’re not a problem,” says Zuko softly.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Azula shoots back. “You’re naive, Zuko. You’re going to make a terrible Fire Lord.”

“I’ve been doing alright lately.”

“Really?” Azula scoffs. “Is that why you visited Father? Is that why you’re here right now? Being the Fire Lord is not just limited to politics, Zuzu. You should know that just by having witnessed my own spectacular failure. Get a hold of yourself. Father has never wanted you, I don’t want you, and Mother is dead. The sooner you accept those things and move on, the sooner you will be able to rule properly.”

Zuko shakes his head. “She’s not dead,” he says. “I know Ozai. I know  _ Father. _ He wouldn’t lie to me about something like that.”

Azula laughs. “You don’t know him nearly as well as you think you do, then,” she says. “Get out before I do something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

“Azula,” Zuko says, tone slightly desperate. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t at least a little curious about what happened to her. Even if we-- Even if all we find is a grave, it would still be closure. Don’t you want that?”

A pause. Azula takes a moment to consider.

That’s… true. If they find Mother’s grave, perhaps she’ll finally stop visiting Azula. Perhaps these… hallucinations, these visions, these unwanted visitations, whatever they are - perhaps they will finally cease. And if they find her alive, well.

She can put an end to it all for certain.

_ But. _

She meets Zuko’s gaze, icy gold and sharp sparks of fire. “Why do you want me involved?” she asks suspiciously. “You’re the Fire Lord; you can do whatever it is you need to without me--”

“I want you to talk to Ozai.”

Azula stares.

“What,” she says.

“Yeah,” says Zuko. He presses his lips together, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t-- don’t look at me like that. I know that it sounds like a stupid idea on my part, since I’m basically giving you access to the one person you’ve wanted to talk to this entire time. Mai has already given me shit about it for the past few days. It’s not going to do wonders for your mental state of being, either.”

Azula goes rigid at the mention of Mai, but Zuko either doesn’t notice or decides not to acknowledge it.

“But I want to know where Mother is,” Zuko continues. “And I think you’re the only person who will be able to get that information out of Ozai.”

And that--  _ that _ changes things.

Azula very much wants to sit down, but Zuko still isn’t, so she doesn’t. Instead, she does her best to steady herself where she stands.

Father. She can talk to Father. That’s all she’s wanted, from the very beginning, and now Zuzu is offering the opportunity up to her on a silver platter. It’s a downright idiotic move on his part, clearly having been blinded by sentiment, but Azula isn’t about to complain.

No. She definitely isn’t going to complain.

She can ask Father what he thinks of her. Ask him what his next move is, ask him if he thinks her a suitable replacement for him since he no longer has his firebending. She  _ will _ take the throne back, and she  _ will _ have Father’s love once more.

And if she can silence Mother once and for all along the way, well. The world will be all the better for it.

“I can’t deny,” Azula says slowly, “that I’m not… curious about what happened to our dear mother.”

“You’ll do it, then?” asks Zuko.

“Well,” says Azula, “since you asked so nicely.”

And she smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say things are going to go down, things are going to go down. The Search is. It's right there. Next chapter. I'm totally fine. I can handle myself completely. Yep. Completely fine. We've made it. Guys we made it. We made it.
> 
> (oh my godfsjlkdfjlsd we'relkjsfdkljfsdl i'm fine i'M FINE)
> 
> I missed writing Azula. The next few chapters (dare I say the next few arcs?) will be *heavily* focused on her. Zuko's path to recovery has finally been introduced, and now it's time to get into Azula's. I........ I have so much planned my gOD--
> 
> Oh yeah also for all of you Mai lovers (hello yes me too she's one of my favorites) - you really thought I was just going to not explore Mai's character beyond her role as Zuko's girlfriend? You really thought? Fools. FOOLS. I am absolutely going to be touching on her own issues, because seriously, there are nowhere near enough fics that do that (also, unrelated, but i am slowly realizing how underrated maiko is?? despite literally being canon? what). Even if her problems aren't going to be as prominently featured, I promise you that I will be talking about them more beyond this chapter's small hint. I have Things Planned.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) for chaos :)


	18. the search (0): things that burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I did tell him about the sun, though,” she adds, almost an afterthought, once she’s finished laughing. “It was warmer than I remembered both times I felt it again. Funny how you forget something so important when you can’t see it.”
> 
> \---
> 
> Or, Azula talks to Ozai, Mai is a blessing, Zuko probably shouldn't be making choices, and things are set on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW AT THE BOTTOM!!!
> 
> Alternative chapter title: "the most homicidal family dynamic you'll ever see"
> 
> Think of this chapter as like,, the prologue to this arc. It's not super plot-heavy and it's not quite at the actual Search yet? But it's still necessary for obvious reasons.
> 
> Okay, before we get into this arc, I want to make something clear: this arc is going to, plot-wise, remain consistent with the Search in the comics. I know. Gross. Disgusting. A war crime. But the main focus here is Azula's redemption, meaning that I really wanted to focus more on the emotional side of things in this arc than fleshing out an entirely new plotline. I'm going to be adding and subtracting scenes from the comics as I see fit, obviously, and I'm really hoping to make this experience of the Search a much better one than the comics.
> 
> Really, what I'm doing is taking the skeleton of the plot of the Search and building something new around it, if that makes sense. I've got,, so many new scenes planned out,, so many things we deserved to see,, I'm really excited to write them and see your reactions the further we get into this arc !!!
> 
> I say something self-deprecating every single time I post a new chapter, so I'm going to restrain myself from bitching about how I don't like this one again. Because self-love. Anyways - I hope you enjoy!
> 
> CW: Does generally mentally not-great behavior count as a CW? It's Azula, so I'll let you decide.

Mai doesn’t come to the prison with Zuko.

“I’m not ready to see Azula,” she says as she helps him tie up his hair. Her hands are gentle, controlled as she runs her fingers through his hair, bringing it into a knot. “Going with you last time was already a lot. And I really, really don’t think that this is a good idea.”

“I know,” says Zuko quietly. “I just wish you could be there for me.”

Mai’s hands still. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I wish I could be there, too, but I’m-- I’m not ready.”

“It’s okay.”

“Zuko--”

Zuko meets her eyes in the mirror. She looks at him, and he can see how her eyes trace over the tired bruises from sleepless nights that still haven’t faded, over features that have still not quite filled back out even after breaking his unintended fast. He barely holds her gaze, a guilt rising as fast as bile as he registers the worry, the guilt in her expression.

“Really,” he says, and he means it with all of his heart, “it’s okay. I never expected you to come with me. Just because I’m ready doesn’t mean that you have to be.”

He can’t help the slight hitch in his breath as Mai gently tugs at the hair by the base of his scalp, fingers scraping softly against the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” she says, barely a whisper.

She looks uncharacteristically vulnerable with her hair down like this. He wants to capture this moment in his memory forever, her reflection with his, the late afternoon sunlight bathing them in buttery gold. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin. Delicate touches, breaths fluttering from between pink lips, low tones carrying more emotion than he has ever heard from anyone else, and maybe he’s a little blinded by her, because he has never been able to understand why people label Mai as uncaring and cold. She has always been the sun to him. Always will be.

He can see a forever in this.

He doesn’t say it out loud. It’s not the time. They’re still too young, still too raw, still hurting and learning and growing, and the situation isn’t the greatest, either. But the thought is there, and he likes how warm it feels.

Mai ties his hair carefully, completely oblivious to what is going on inside of Zuko’s head. He has to press his lips together to stop the fond smile from spreading across his face.

Agni. Mai was right. He’s the sappy one in the relationship.

And he’s not even mad about it.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Mai says, breaking Zuko out of his thoughts. “Tell me what happens, okay?”

“I will,” Zuko promises, and he means it, even though he’s been terrible with promises recently. He turns around to face her, and she reaches out, wrapping her arms around him. They stand there, pressed tightly against one another.

“For the record,” says Mai dryly, “this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Letting Azula talk to Ozai is going to backfire.”

“I know,” Zuko says, and he does, he really does. “But I don’t really have another choice.”

Mai stays quiet. She pulls away, picking up the crown with a metallic scrape from where it sits, and tucks it into place on his head. The gold glints in the sunlight, a near match to his eyes.

“You look good,” she says quietly. Zuko flushes slightly, because he knows he doesn’t, but there’s something about the way that Mai says it that almost makes him believe it.

“You look better,” he responds to cover his reddening cheeks, and he feels a swoop of pleasure as he watches Mai’s own cheeks go pink. She narrows her eyes at him, poking his collarbone, and he huffs a laugh.

“I love you,” says Zuko. Mai smiles, soft and sad.

“Love you, too.”

\---

They put Azula in a straightjacket. They also put her in a wheelchair.

It takes three nurses, four guards, and more than a few injuries on both sides to pull it off.

She’s wheeled out of the institution by a nurse, escorted by two guards. There’s an itch on her cheek that she can’t get at, and she sticks out her lower lip, blowing an irritated puff of air in an attempt to get her hair out of the way. It doesn’t work.

She’s mildly surprised that they didn’t cuff her, but the straightjacket was, perhaps, enough by their standards.

“Fire Lord Zuko.”

Azula’s eyes focus. Zuko stands in front of her, casting an admittedly impressive figure with his regalia, the setting sun behind him. He bows to both the guards and the nurse, all three of whom hasten to execute bows lower than his.

It would be funny if Azula wasn’t rendered completely and utterly immobile.

“Let’s go,” she drawls. “I imagine that the Fire Lord has more important things to be doing.”

The two members of Zuko’s personal guard eye her with wariness. Azula is vaguely delighted by this.

“Are you ready?” asks Zuko quietly, and it’s clear that it’s meant just for her.

“You’ll make me do it regardless,” sighs Azula, letting her head fall to the side in what she imagines to be a somewhat disturbing position. “But, yes, Zuzu. I don’t do things that I don’t want to do.”

“Okay,” he says, and this one is definitely meant for just himself. He doesn’t look at Azula when he says it. “Let’s go.”

\---

Zuko does not feel in control in the slightest. It’s an odd feeling, especially since he’s spent the last few months overwhelmed with the amount of control that he now has.

This is different.

He’s bringing Azula back to Ozai. Something he swore to himself he would never do, something that he knows will hurt her, something that hurt _him_ when he did it, and at least he made that decision on his own accord, but this?

Even if Azula claims to be okay with this, she’s not in the right state of mind, and Zuko is in the authoritative position. He’s the one with the power in this situation, and she has-- she’s not in control. But he’s taking her back to the one person that made her this way.

It feels like he’s choosing Mother over Azula.

And he _hates_ that he’s not turning back now.

Are we not going to talk about you starving yourself?” Azula asks abruptly.

“We aren’t,” says Zuko. “Not until you start eating.”

“Or about you burning yourself?”

Zuko doesn’t stumble, but it’s a very near thing.

“What?” he manages, very aware of the people walking with them. He lowers his voice to something like a whisper. “That was an accident. I don’t know how you--”

“You can’t hide things from me, Zuzu,” says Azula dismissively, sounding alarmingly like her old self. “Really, you should know better. At least treat your wounds properly next time.”

 _Next time._ Because Azula knows him too well.

“Alright,” says Zuko. “I will. Sorry.”

“Hm,” Azula says.

She falls oddly silent when the prison comes into view, visibly stiffening in her restraints. Zuko glances at her, but she’s not looking at him, eyes glued to the prison. Her jaw is set, eyes wider than usual - not in the crazed, wild way that they usually are, but with something else.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and he doesn’t say it gently, but he doesn’t say it with any particular force, either. Azula whirls to glare at him, hair slapping the sides of her cheeks with the force of the movement.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. She narrows her eyes, continuing to glare at him until he looks away.

“Okay,” he says. “Just checking.”

\---

They’ve come to a stop outside of a seemingly innocuous cell door, nothing there to define it from the others. Azula isn’t sure what she was expecting.

It’s right here. _Right here._ And Azula recognizes this hallway, too. Her first cell, the one without the window, was not even a few doors away.

She might’ve run past this exact cell during one of her escape attempts.

_(Had Father ever heard her scream?)_

Zuko is looking at her again.

“Stop that,” she says sharply, turning to glare at him. “You’re being weird again.”

“I just want to make sure that you’re okay with this,” says Zuko. “You don’t-- You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can figure something else out.”

Azula scoffs. “I’m not doing this for you,” she says. “You should know this by now. Your input has nothing to do with my decision.”

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

The two of them look at each other, Zuko’s eyes hard and unreadable, Azula’s brimming with barely suppressed anger.

Their roles have reversed so quickly, so violently.

“Open the door,” says Zuko, not taking his eyes away from Azula. One of the guards hurries to unlock the cell, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he glances at Zuko. He nods, and the door swings open.

Zuko takes the chair from the nurse and wheels her inside himself, but Azula doesn’t even bother to complain.

She’s staring at Father.

_Father._

She hardly recognizes him.

His hair has grown out in tangled clumps, skin dirtied and unwashed yet paler than she has ever seen it. Like herself and Zuko, his face is gaunt, cheeks hollow, features too sharp to be healthy. His body, covered by the ragged fabric of his clothes, is outlined by bones rather than muscle, smaller than Azula remembers.

 _Everything_ about him is smaller than Azula remembers. She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen him on the floor before, much less in a position like this.

But his expression is the same, _exactly_ the same, when his eyes land on Azula, boring into her for a moment, before flicking back up to Zuko. He has an eyebrow slightly raised, lips beginning to curve into a deadly smile that Azula watched and copied for years before she could summon it without effort.

This is Father. This is Ozai.

They do not feel like the same person.

She wonders how Zuko reacted to seeing him like this.

“Are you going to stay in here?” Father speaks at last, looking directly at Zuko. “I can’t imagine that our conversation will prove fruitful with your presence.”

Zuko blinks, clearly taken aback. He shifts slightly, looking between Father and Azula.

“Go, Zuzu,” says Azula, rolling her eyes. She locks eyes with Father, and she swears that she sees the corner of his lip lift higher. “We have things to discuss.”

This was clearly not part of the plan, judging by the way Zuko hesitates. But, after a moment, he nods once, shortly.

“Half an hour,” he acquiesces. “I’ll come back in after half an hour. Let me know if you need me to bring you out,” he adds to Azula, slightly quieter. “I’ll be right outside.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” says Azula. She turns away from him, a clear dismissal. Zuko hesitates once more before exiting the room.

The door shuts behind him with a heavy clang.

Gold meets gold. Father’s eyes burn into Azula.

She doesn’t look away.

And neither does he.

\---

“How long have they been in there?”

Eiji pauses, pressing his lips together as he thinks. “Ten minutes, Your Majesty,” he says.

“And they haven’t said anything to each other?”

“Not a word.”

\---

Father speaks first.

“Your brother is more cunning than I realized,” he says quietly, voice cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. “Bringing you to me… He must realize the consequences his actions will have.”

Azula lets her head fall to the side. “Perhaps,” she drawls. Her pulse is racing, hands clenched so tightly beneath the straitjacket that she’s somewhat grateful for the restraints, if only for the fact that it prevents her from shaking. “He thinks you know where Mother is.”

Father acknowledges this with a small nod. His eyes run over Azula, taking in the straitjacket, lingering on the shadows of her face and the ragged tangles of her hair. Something like displeasure flickers in his expression.

“Are you--” Azula cuts herself off. She licks her lips nervously. “Are you angry with me?”

Father tilts his head. “For what?”

Azula takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “For the Agni Kai,” she says as indifferently as she can possibly make herself sound. It doesn’t work. Her voice doesn’t tremble, but she’s fighting hard to keep it steady. “I failed you.”

“I failed as well,” Father reminds her smoothly. “I am not angry with you, Azula.”

Azula feels her shoulders relax slightly. “Oh,” she says. “Good.”

Another silence.

“Is it true?” asks Azula. “Did the Avatar take away your firebending?”

Father’s lip curls. “Yes,” he says. “Death would have been more merciful, but the Avatar’s cowardly nature prevented him from seeing that. He left you untouched, I presume.”

“Yes,” says Azula. “I assume Zuko interfered.”

At that, Father chuckles. “It seems so,” he says. His eyes harden as he leans forward, staring into Azula’s eyes. “You’ve changed.”

He heard her. He must have heard her scream, heard her laugh.

Azula looks back at him for a total of five seconds before she can’t anymore. She blinks, immediately looking away.

“You’ve allowed your emotions to get the better of you,” Father continues, and Azula feels shame begin to well up inside of her at the disdainful tone creeping into his voice. “This is where your failure stemmed from at the Agni Kai. You failed to take control of your weaknesses, and you suffered because of it. You still are.”

“I know,” says Azula quietly.

“You are not Zuko.”

“I know.”

“You are better than this, Azula.”

Azula swallows. She blinks, hard, and looks Father directly in the eye.

“I know,” she says. She holds his gaze for another few heartbeats before dropping her head, eyes on her legs. “I know. I’m sorry, Father. I’ve failed you.”

A pause. Four heartbeats, quick and unsteady.

“Do you want the throne, Azula?”

Azula’s head jerks back up in surprise. “Yes,” she says slowly, carefully, watching Father’s face for a reaction. “Of course I do.”

Father has always been the one person that Azula has never been able to read. She hated it back then, and she hates it now.

“In that case,” says Father softly, and Azula finds herself leaning forward, straining against the straitjacket, “I have something that could prove… beneficial to all three of us.”

“Zuko, too?”

“Yes,” says Father, eyes drifting to the door where Azula knows Zuko is lingering on the opposite side. “Including your brother.”

“What is it?”

Father smiles.

\---

Zuko opens the door once the half hour is up. He takes in the scene, Azula sitting back in the wheelchair, Ozai in the front of his cell with his hands resting on top of his knees.

“Ready?” Zuko asks, looking at Azula.

“If I’m not?” she shoots back, tilting her head back to look at him.

Zuko suppresses a sigh. He glances at Ozai, then takes the handles of Azula’s chair into his hands, pushing her out of the room without a word to the man. The door shuts rather unceremoniously behind him, and he can’t help but feel mildly underwhelmed by the whole experience.

Which he supposes is a good thing, really. Boring is good, sometimes.

“How was it?” Zuko asks carefully as they exit the prison. He just barely manages to stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief at the cool air on his skin, the biting chill of the winter air relieving him from the nearly stifling heat of the prison. It couldn’t have been that warm down there, but nerves kept him pacing for the full half hour.

“Just ask the question you really want to, Zuzu,” drawls Azula.

“That is the question I wanted to ask.”

“It was fine,” says Azula. “What, do you want me to start complaining about him to you?”

_Maybe._

Azula seems to sense what he’s thinking, because she scoffs loudly. “You’re as bad as Mother,” she says scathingly. “Always acting like you care, always darting around the point until I have to force it out. She still hasn’t admitted that she wants to kill me, you know.”

“What did you and Ozai talk about?”

He can see the edge of her smirk as she turns her head slightly. “The usual,” she says. “He asked me about the weather. I told him how much I’m enjoying the scrumptious food they have at the nuthouse.”

Zuko stiffens at that while Azula laughs like she’s made a fantastic joke. And maybe it is, to her, since she isn’t the one who has to see how the bones in her face stick out, how her skin is almost translucent.

“I did tell him about the sun, though,” she adds, almost an afterthought, once she’s finished laughing. “It was warmer than I remembered both times I felt it again. Funny how you forget something so important when you can’t see it.”

Zuko doesn’t have a response to that other than overwhelming guilt, so he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s made me realize something, too,” continues Azula. She’s facing completely forward, so Zuko can’t see her face as he pushes the chair. “Fire catches quite easily. Bedsheets are rather flammable, you know. Fabric in general is.”

“Azula--”

“And what are straitjackets made of, Zuzu?”

It takes him a heartbeat too long for it to click.

Azula _incinerates_ the straitjacket in a whirl of blazing blue flames, and she’s out of the wheelchair and on her feet in a matter of seconds, racing down the courtyard. Eiji makes a grab for her, but she punches fire hot enough that it sends him stumbling, landing hard on his back with a sharp cry.

“Eiji, are you--”

“Go!” Eiji shouts. “I’m fine!”

And Zuko sprints after Azula.

He curses whichever ancestor of his it was that approved regalia this difficult to move in, then curses again when there’s a distinctive flash of blue fire and a shriek of alarm as a window is blasted open, followed immediately by a blur of movement as someone hurtles through it. Zuko doesn’t hesitate, swinging himself through the window right after Azula and landing on the ground with a grunt.

“Where did she go?” demands Zuko, whipping around to look at the guard on the floor. His eyes are wide as he points through the doorway to the right, and Zuko runs.

He catches a glimpse of the edge of her clothes as she darts into a room, and Zuko slides on the floor as he skids to a stop to avoid crashing into the wall, running after her. He comes to an abrupt halt in the center of the room, blinking in confusion.

Dead end.

His eyes land on the framed flame insignia on the wall, the only notable thing in the room. He reaches out, touching it, to find that it’s warm.

Muttering a silent prayer to Agni in his head, he punches fire into the center of the frame. The outline of the design glows, and the frame slides away to reveal a hidden staircase.

What. The fuck.

Zuko shakes his head, quickly climbing through the entryway. He hurries down the steps, covering his mouth to avoid breathing in the stirred dust. There’s a thick red curtain at the end of the hallway shielding a doorway that he shoves aside.

He enters a room lined with gold, filled with red, and stuffed to the brim with the oddest assortment of items he has ever seen in his entire life.

And Azula.

“What is this place?” asks Zuko, bewildered, momentarily distracted. Azula is rummaging through a large chest full of letters, muttering to herself and uttering the occasional curse. She glances over her shoulder at Zuko.

“One of Father’s many secret chambers,” she says. She pulls out one of the letters, unfolding it. “You really should have come exploring with us when we were little, Zuzu. But your fear always held you back.”

She stands up, holding up the letter with two fingers. “Father overcame Mother’s control long enough to give me the truth,” she says. Her eyes are wide, a little crazed. “These letters go back _years._ And they’re the key to finding her.”

“Give me that.”

Azula smiles, sharp as a knife.

The letter bursts into flames.

“No!” Zuko lunges forward, too late, too late, too late. The paper falls to ashes on the ground, fluttering like snowflakes.

Azula bursts into laughter, as wild as she sounded when Zuko first saw her after the Agni Kai, and he stands there, frozen, for a moment, whether from shock or fear, from the ashes on the ground or the laughter piercing his ears, he’s not quite sure.

“Your face,” gasps Azula between laughs. “That was priceless, Zuzu.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Zuko snaps.

Azula’s expression hardens quite abruptly. “Why don’t you ask _her?”_ she spits, jerking her head to the side. Zuko looks, but no one is there. “I’m sure Mother would be more than happy to tell you!”

Before Zuko can even begin to think of a response to that, Azula squeezes her eyes shut, clutching her head. “Look,” she says stiffly, a sharp contrast to the laughter just moments earlier, “believe it or not, dear brother, I want to find her as much as you do.”

“Really?” asks Zuko, sarcasm and anger dripping to hide the remnants of his panic. “I couldn’t tell, considering that you just burned the only thing that could’ve possibly helped us find her.”

Azula’s hands tighten in her hair. “I’ll tell you what was in those letters on one condition,” she says in a low voice. She opens her eyes, meeting Zuko’s gaze. “I’m not telling you anything if you don’t agree.”

“What is it?”

Before Azula can answer, there’s a metallic whistling sound, and two knives shoot through the air, pinning Azula to the wall by the sleeves. Zuko whirls around to see Mai standing in the doorway, already holding two more blades, her eyes narrowed as she looks at Azula.

Azula appears frozen for a moment. She recovers quickly.

“Mai,” she says smoothly, narrowing her eyes. “How lovely to see you like this.”

“I can’t say I return the sentiment,” says Mai. She glances around the room, then at Zuko, concern starting to take over her expression. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” says Zuko. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw the fire from my window. Thought you could use some help.”

“How did you find this place?”

“Exploring,” Mai says. “You should’ve come with us when we were younger.”

“So I’ve been told,” mutters Zuko.

“You two are still together?” Azula cuts in, and both Mai and Zuko immediately turn sharp looks on her. “What? It’s a reasonable question to ask considering that you landed her in prison.”

“I’m clearly not there anymore,” says Mai coldly. She looks at Zuko. “Are we taking her back to the institution?”

“Mai,” drawls Azula, head thudding back against the wall. “How rude. You could at least look me in the eye when you talk.”

“I’m done answering to you,” snaps Mai, hands tightening on the handle of her knife as she glares at Azula. “You have no power over me anymore. Stop acting like you’re still in control.”

Azula rolls her eyes. Her sleeves catch on fire, the fabric around the knives burning away, and she drops her freed arms, extinguishing the flames with a lazy wave of her hand. She eyes the knives rather curiously before turning back to Mai and Zuko.

“I’m assuming Mother had a word with you,” says Azula to Mai. Her eyes are distinctly bloodshot, and Zuko isn’t sure how he didn’t notice before. She reaches up, tangling her fingers into her hair again as she grips her head, hard. “She’s the one who told you convinced you to turn against me, isn’t she? I can’t possibly figure out how she did it behind my back, though, considering how closely you’d been by my s--"

“Azula,” says Zuko sharply. She stops talking.

“You’re getting better at acting like a Fire Lord every time I see you,” she says with an almost unnerving casualness. Zuko is pretty sure he’ll have whiplash by the time this is all over, if Azula keeps ricocheting between instability and something like her normal self. “I wonder if you’ll be actually competent by the time Mother finally does me in.”

“What is she--” Mai breaks off, eyes wide, and it’s then that Zuko realizes that Mai has not directly interacted with Azula since Boiling Rock.

By the look on Azula’s face, she’s realized the same thing.

“Is this unsettling for you?” Azula asks Mai scathingly, lip curling. “Perhaps I ought to tone it all down for you. Or are you going to throw more knives at me if I try to apologize?”

“You’re not going to apologize,” says Mai flatly.

“No,” says Azula, smiling. “I’m not.”

Zuko would give anything to know what Azula is thinking, because it’s clear that her mind is racing, thoughts jumping everywhere. Her eyes are somewhat unfocused, and her hands are trembling slightly. Sweat shines on her temples, lining her forehead and causing strands of dry, coarse hair to cling to her skin. Her hands clench and unclench sporadically, like she’s trying not to burn the whole place down, and she keeps looking at this one spot like there’s something there.

Like Mother is there, Zuko would guess.

Mai’s hands clench around her knives. She holds herself stiffly, her posture somewhere between one of a perfectly trained noblewoman and of a trained fighter. “You’ve changed,” she says quietly, mostly to herself. “You’re not _her_ anymore.”

If possible, Azula’s smile widens even more. “Father said the same thing.”

Neither of them look away from each other. There’s a charged, tense silence.

Zuko knows that they’ll have to talk about this in greater detail at some point. But for now, there’s a pile of ashes on the floor that still needs to be addressed.

“Okay,” says Zuko. He fights the urge to sigh. “Azula. The letters.”

“Oh, right.” Azula examines her nails in a bored manner. “Well, I said I would help you look for Mother. And I fully intend on upholding that promise, considering that you did bring me to Father. I know where Mother might be.”

Something swoops in Zuko’s stomach. He feels Mai’s eyes on him, watching.

“Are you going to tell me?” he asks.

“I told you,” Azula says impatiently, “I’ll tell you what was in the letters on one condition.”

“And what is that?” Mai asks brusquely. Azula doesn’t even glance at her, keeping her eyes on Zuko as she answers.

“Bring me with you,” she says, folding her arms, “when you go. Unbound. I will travel to aid in the search, not as a prisoner.”

Zuko looks at Azula. She looks back, unflinching.

He doesn’t even really need to think about it.

“Where is she?” he asks, and Azula’s face breaks into a smile. Mai makes a sort of strangled noise.

“Hira’a,” Azula says. “The letters seem to indicate that she lived there. There’s a man named Ikem mentioned several times, perhaps a former lover. It’s a start.”

Former lover. Zuko has to force himself not to react to the words. Of course Mother would’ve loved someone else, someone before Ozai. If she even loved Ozai at all - spirits, was the marriage even consensual? Did she--

Zuko makes the conscious, healthy decision to not go down that road tonight.

“Zuko,” Mai says, and he doesn’t even need to turn around to see the look of disbelief and wariness on her face. “You can’t possibly--”

“Yes, I can,” says Zuko tiredly. He looks at Azula, then at Mai. “Do you want to come with us?”

Mai looks torn for a moment, but she doesn’t look back at Azula. She keeps staring at Zuko, searching his gaze.

“You’re really going to do this?” she asks. “You’re going to let her--”

“Right here,” Azula interjects, waving a hand lazily. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

Mai whirls on her, eyes flashing. “Fine,” she snaps, voice quivering with suppressed anger. “What’s stopping us from just going to Hira’a right now without you? What gives you the right to act like this, to demand something from us when you’ve--”

“When I’ve what?” asks Azula sweetly. “Might I remind you, Mai, that you have done the same things that I have. Perhaps to a less extreme extent, but you were by my side for each act of cruelty I bestowed upon the world during the war. What makes you so different from me?”

Mai stiffens. Zuko quickly wraps a hand around her arm, both steadying her and holding her back. He moves his hand down, running a thumb over her knuckles in what he hopes to be a grounding gesture.

“I want her to come,” says Zuko to Mai, quietly enough that he hopes Azula can’t hear. “That was my plan from the beginning. I think it’ll help her. Help _us._ Taking her to Ozai was… not my best move. But this might actually do some good. And I-- I can’t keep her in that institution any longer than I have to in good conscience.”

When Mai doesn’t respond, Zuko squeezes her hand. “Come with us,” he says softly. “I need your help.”

There’s a long, long pause. Zuko hears Azula give an exaggerated yawn.

“The two of us can’t handle her alone if things go south,” Mai says, her voice low. “You’re going to need more help.”

Zuko feels himself beginning to smile. “You’ll come with us?”

Mai scowls. “Of course I’ll come,” she says. “I’m not letting you do this without me. It’s too important. But you’re going to bring the rest of your friends, too. We’re nowhere near enough to stop her if she decides to turn on us.”

“Believe it or not,” says Azula, loud enough that both of them turn to look at her, “I’m still in the room.”

Zuko sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turns back to Mai. “You’re right,” he says. “I need to send off a few more letters. This might take awhile.”

“We’ve got time,” says Mai, shrugging. She cuts a glance at Azula, then back at Zuko. “I don’t know how you keep making such bad decisions that seem to work out all the time.”

At that, Azula lets out a loud laugh. Mai’s hand twitches, like she’s fighting the urge to throw another knife at her.

\---

When Azula returns to her room in the institution, she finds that the sheets she burned to nothingness at some point or another have finally been replaced in her absence. The ashes are all sweeped up, the scorch marks on the floor and the wall the only evidence of their destruction in the first place.

It’s clean.

Azula tries. She really does. She sits down on the bed, tensing as the mattress groans beneath her weight.

“It’s just a bed,” says Mother softly, and Azula’s head jerks up. She looks around the room wildly, but Mother is nowhere to be seen in the darkness.

“They’ve strapped me down before,” Azula spits. “They could do it again.”

It’s a little unnerving, not being able to see Mother. She can hear her, plain as anything, but it’s too dark to know if she’s there.

“Zuko wouldn’t let them,” Mother’s disembodied voice says, except Azula thinks she can see the outline of her figure in the shadows. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the door frame. “You are safe here, Azula.”

“I’m never safe,” snaps Azula. “Not when you’re here. Not when--”

Words fail her.

She thinks of Mai, her disgusted expression, tinged with a familiar fear as knives drove in her direction, glinting like stars in stifling night. She thinks of Father, shamed and restrained, but not broken, never broken, treating her as if nothing had happened at all, and of the relief that flooded through her when he’d assured her he wasn’t angry, relief and something else, something… something.

Something.

And Zuko.

“He took me to him,” mutters Azula. “He took me to him for _you,_ Mother. I’m not sure if that makes him the stupidest person in the world or more calculating than I anticipated. He knows that I want you gone.”

“Do you?” Mother asks softly, and Azula’s hands clench into fists. Unable to help herself any longer, Azula lights a fist on fire, faint silver moonlight chased out of the room with a bright, intense blue.

There is no one in the room.

No Mother.

Just Azula.

Just Azula and a bed, a bed with fresh sheets that smell like dust and soap, a mattress that creaks beneath her weight, and bars on the frame that would be perfect to lock shackles onto, positioned just-so to allow for even spacing between where her wrists would go, where her ankles would slot into, and bile rises in her throat as she remembers how cold she felt, how dark the room was, how groggy and disoriented and _scared_ she was with drugs pumping through her system and bile rising in her throat, the smell of food, poisoned, no doubt, because why else would she--

 _“Get out of my head!”_ Azula screams. She slams her fist into the stone wall, squeezing her eyes shut against the relentless _pounding_ in her head, and she doesn’t know if it’s from hunger or lack of sleep or from everything becoming too much, _too much,_ and she’s not really sure if it matters. She’s not really sure if she cares.

Mother doesn’t respond, and that’s somehow worse.

But Father responded. Father listened, just like Zuko did.

Azula sets her bed on fire, and the room fills with smoke.

\---

_Katara (and hopefully Sokka, Aang, and Toph, if you all are still there),_

_I’m sorry for not responding sooner. It’s been a rough few weeks, I’ll admit. You’re right - I haven’t been telling you all everything. But I want to make things right._

_I’ve always had trouble admitting when I need help. It’s something I need to fix, especially considering that I get more reluctant to ask for it when I need it the most. I’ve already sent a letter off to Uncle, which was the really hard part, and I can’t exactly waste anymore time putting this off. So._

_I need your help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have the first draft of chapter 19 done because I'm weak. So it should be up really soon, actually. I just finished with something Completely and Totally Wonderful and Fun in my personal life, so depending on how emotionally drained and fucked over I am, I might end up posting it in like,, uh three days LMAO. Honestly, you can probably measure my emotional state of being based on what days I post chapters.
> 
> Anyways. Love you guys. See you in a few days ;)
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	19. the search (1): contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gaang arrives at the palace. Azula contemplates more homicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And....... we begin ;)
> 
> CW: some references to suicidal thoughts, discussion of past bad self care, VERY vague discussion of suicide (it is entirely implied)

The ten ton flying sky bison touching down in the palace courtyard almost gets the Avatar arrested.

It’s the funniest thing that Zuko has seen in months. Which is, admittedly, a low bar.

“Zuko!”

The air is quite literally knocked out of Zuko’s lungs when Aang _slams_ into him, arms squeezing around him so tightly that he briefly wonders if Aang is trying to assassinate him. It leads directly into the second funniest thing that Zuko has seen all month as he watches his guards try to figure out if they should intervene with their Fire Lord beginning to pale from a lack of oxygen.

“Hi,” Zuko manages. “Aang, you really need to learn how to give less enthusiastic hugs. I’m going to die one of these days.”

He’s trying very, very hard not to melt into an embarrassing puddle of affection. But then Aang buries himself deeper into Zuko’s arms, head pressed into his chest.

“I missed you,” he says, and Zuko gives up entirely. He makes eye contact with Mai, who’s helping Sokka down from Appa. Her eyes take in his predicament, and a slow, slow smile begins to spread across her face.

Zuko hates his girlfriend.

“Sap,” she calls out, and the only thing keeping Zuko from making a rude gesture at her is the fact that his arms are effectively pinned to his sides by Aang. Toph earthbends herself and Katara to the ground, and the four of them walk over to Aang and Zuko at a much more reasonable pace than the velocity at which Aang launched himself at Zuko with.

“Hey, Zuko,” says Sokka, grinning. “I’d hug you, but you look like your hands are a little full.”

“He means that we missed you,” Katara sighs, rolling her eyes while Sokka cackles at his own joke.

“Thanks,” Zuko says dryly, smiling. “How have you all been?”

“The usual,” says Sokka, shrugging. “Aang’s a ball of sunshine. Katara’s kicking ass. Toph and I suffer while they’re gross together.”

“Hey!” protests Katara. “I never complained when you and Suki were being gross in Ba Sing Se _or_ during the war!”

“Older brother privileges,” Sokka practically sings.

“Save me,” deadpans Toph.

Zuko smiles. “You all look well, at least.”

Katara opens her mouth to respond, probably to return the comment with a teasing remark, but then her eyes land on Zuko’s face. Whatever she was going to say gets lost in her throat.

There’s an awkward silence. Aang pulls away from Zuko, curious, and his eyes go huge when he makes eye contact with him.

“You don’t,” Sokka says, breaking the silence. “You, uh. Look worse?”

“He sounds worse, too,” Toph interjects.

“He’s aware,” says Mai. “We’re working on it.”

But Aang is still giving Zuko this _look,_ wide eyes and just slightly furrowed eyebrows, lips parted as he blinks.

And Zuko remembers.

He quickly turns away from Aang, taking a step back so he doesn’t have to address the horrible guilt and the memory of a broken promise beginning to swallow him whole. “Look,” he says, “can we just-- I’ve got a lot of things to talk to you guys about, and this really isn’t that important.”

Katara frowns. “Zuko--”

“Really,” snaps Zuko. “I’m fine. We don’t need to talk about this right now.”

 _Or ever,_ he thinks to himself. He pointedly avoids Mai’s gaze.

Toph isn’t having any of it.

“You’re moving weird,” she says, unusually serious. “Like you’re in pain. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“They’re just burns,” says Zuko dismissively, and, in the corner of his eye, he sees Mai’s head jerk up in shock.

Oh. Great.

This is turning out to be a fantastic day.

 _"Mild_ burns,” he adds quickly in an effort to rectify his mistake, except Katara makes a strangled noise that makes him think that he’s probably making things a lot worse. “Training accident.”

Everyone but Mai and Toph’s eyes flick to his scar and then back. Toph just raises an eyebrow.

It takes Zuko a minute.

 _Oh,_ he realizes. _They think that I got it in a--_

“No, not like--” Zuko closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling more and more like he should’ve just grabbed Azula by himself and _walked_ to Hira’a. At least Azula would have made his death quick. “An _actual_ training accident. But I’m fine now. Can we please move on?”

Toph cracks her knuckles. “Are we going with Plan B?” she asks Sokka. Aang’s eyes go, if possible, even wider with alarm, and Zuko gets the feeling that Plan B involves much less talking, more threats of homicide.

Not for the first time, Zuko thinks that Toph would have gotten along with Azula quite well if things were different.

“You keep pushing us away,” Katara says, before Sokka can respond. She shoots a sharp, warning look at Sokka. “Even in your letter to us, you didn’t tell us anything. Are you going to tell us the truth about how you’re doing, or are you going to walk away again?”

Zuko bristles. “I’m not--”

“You are,” says Sokka, and Zuko gets the feeling that he's been holding this back for a long, long time. “We’re not trying to make this a conflict. It’s just-- Can you put yourself in our shoes for a second? We’ve been halfway across the world, hundreds of miles away, from our friend who just took on what is currently the most stressful job in the entire world after imprisoning two of his family members. And he’s not talking to us, and we have no idea what the hell is going on with him other than a single, cryptic letter from his girlfriend about an assassination attempt? Can you, just for a second, imagine living that?”

To be fair, there have been quite a few assassination attempts distracting him from that one. But he gets the feeling that that wouldn’t be the best thing to say.

“In case it wasn’t already clear, Plan B is us forcing it out of you,” says Toph menacingly. “So get talking, Sparky.”

“She means that in the nicest way possible,” Aang jumps in quickly. “But… We really are worried, Zuko. When you stopped writing, we literally had no way of knowing if you were even _alive._ News from the Fire Nation isn’t exactly easy to come by these days.”

Desperate, Zuko looks over to Mai. She has a completely unreadable expression on her face. When they make eye contact, she just tilts her head to the side expectantly.

“What do you want me to say?” Zuko asks defensively, when it becomes clear that Mai is leaving this one to him. Sokka throws his hands into the air.

“An explanation for why you look like this!” he shouts. “You can’t seriously think that we’re just going to let this go!”

“Sokka,” Katara begins, but Sokka shoves a hand in her direction, shaking his head.

“No, Katara,” he says. He looks at Zuko. “We’re your friends, aren't we? You’re supposed to talk to us.”

_“I’m your girlfriend, Zuko. You’re supposed to talk to me.”_

“I don’t want to do this here,” Zuko snaps. Familiar anger is boiling up to the surface, rising to strengthen the walls that have begun to weaken over time. “If we’re doing it, we’re not doing it in the fucking _courtyard._ There’s something I need your help with, and I would really rather not wait any longer than I already have.”

There’s a heavy silence. Zuko’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He avoids eye contact with everyone.

“Now,” he says, voice measured and calmer than he thinks he has ever sounded, “can we get to work?”

\---

Uncle arrives about an hour later. Zuko takes one look at how his joyous smile begins to crumble, eyes widening, and throws himself into his arms to avoid having to see it any longer than physically necessary.

“I’m fine,” says Zuko tersely, when he can feel Uncle beginning to open his mouth. “Now I am, at least. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You do not have to tell me anything that you do not want to,” says Uncle gently. “I missed you, my nephew.”

Zuko swallows, closing his eyes. “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry for bringing you back into politics. I know you didn’t want to--”

“I offered my help, didn’t I?” Uncle says firmly. He pulls away, holding Zuko at the arms, and Zuko is suddenly quite aware of how much taller he’s become. He has to look down a surprising amount to meet Uncle’s eyes. “If it helps you, I am more than pleased to do it.”

Zuko’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “Even taking the throne?” he asks. “You’ll be standing in for me for a while.”

“It’s temporary,” Uncle says, equally as dry. “I won’t do anything that you wouldn’t do.”

“I know that.”

“I’m grateful that you could trust me with this.”

“To be fair, you’re also the only other person eligible to stand in for me.”

Uncle laughs, loud and unrestrained, and Zuko can’t help but laugh, too. They start walking down the hall.

“I’ve invited both Chief Arnook and Earth King Kuei to send healers over to the Fire Nation,” says Zuko. “Their letters shouldn’t arrive until after I’ve come back, but in case they send their agreements, just tell them that they can send their doctors within the next month or so. I should be back by then. The Earth King also should be sending a follow-up on the meeting we’ve arranged about the colonies at some point, and I’m pretty sure General How still needs to get back to us about our missing soldiers, but all correspondence from Ba Sing Se has been limited because of the political unrest. And my ministers should listen to you, but in case they don’t--”

“Zuko,” laughs Uncle, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Things will be fine. Do not worry. Focus on the search for your mother, and do not stress about things here. I will take care of everything.”

Zuko can’t help the relief that swallows him at that. He smiles at Uncle.

He tells him, anyways, about everything that’s been happening. He knows that he’ll find out eventually, whether from palace gossip or snide comments from his ministers, and he figures that it’s probably better coming from him than anyone else. Uncle’s mouth thins into a severe line when Zuko brings up the assassination attempts in a manner probably far too casual to be normal, and his eyes go wide with horror when he mentions his visit to Ozai.

But those expressions are nothing compared to when Zuko mentions the period in which he stopped caring for himself entirely. He gives Uncle the censored, abridged version, choosing to merely mention rather than describe, but the few sentences he gives is enough. More than enough.

They’ve reached the room that his friends are already waiting in by the time Zuko has finished telling Uncle everything. He’s completely out of words to say, and Uncle seems to be at a similar loss.

“You must tell your friends,” Uncle says at last, once they’ve lingered outside of the door a little too long. Zuko shifts uncomfortably, but Uncle grabs his wrist before he can start to move. “No, Zuko. Listen to me. When they offer their help, they are being genuine. There are no ulterior motives behind their concern. They are here simply because they _want_ to be here, not because they owe you anything.”

“I know that,” Zuko says.

“Perhaps in theory,” says Uncle gently. “But in practice? I think you could use a few reminders.”

“Maybe.”

Uncle squeezes his wrist. “Mai has been a great help, hasn’t she?”

“Well, yeah,” says Zuko. “She’s Mai. She knows me. She’s known me since before--”

He breaks off. Uncle waits patiently, as he always has when Zuko gets like this.

“I don’t want them to pity me,” he says quietly. “Mai isn’t-- She’s not that kind of person, and she knew me before everything happened. She knows who I used to be. And I-- I trust you more than anyone else I know, so you don’t really count.”

They both already know this, so Uncle doesn’t react beyond a slight flicker in his already gentle eyes.

“But I don’t--” Zuko cuts himself off again, sighing. “You’re-- you’re right. You always are. I’ll think about it.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

Uncle smiles. Zuko smiles back, albeit hesitantly.

“Okay,” he says, turning to the doors. “Let’s get started.”

\---

Azula thinks that Zuko probably should have informed his friends that she would be in the room before actually putting her in the room.

The waterbender enters the room first. Her eyes land on Azula, lounging back in one of the chairs with her feet propped up on the table, and the smile slides right off of her face. Azula doesn’t even have time to let herself feel any sort of satisfaction from it before there are ice daggers hurtling in her direction. Azula merely brings her hand up, a burst of fire melting the ice into a puddle of water on the table in front of her.

She gets approximately two seconds of calm before rocks slam into her, wrapping her tightly into the chair and pinning her arms to her sides.

“Well,” says Azula, lifting an eyebrow appraisingly. “You’ve ruined the floor. I can’t imagine Zuzu will be too pleased about that.”

“You,” snarls the waterbender, eyes flashing. “What are you doing here?”

“She must’ve snuck in,” the earthbender says. She clenches her hands into fists, and the restraints tighten uncomfortably around Azula’s ribcage. “How did you know that we would be here?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I’m here by invitation?” Azula asks.

“Right,” says the waterbender’s brother, the warrior with the boomerang. “Because you’re definitely here because Zuko brought you here. You. The person who tried to kill him.”

Azula just smiles sweetly.

“O-oh,” says a small voice, younger. The Avatar enters the room, a lemur curled up on his shoulder. Or perhaps an oddly-shaped scarf by the way that it’s positioned. She’s not sure. “She’s here? Why is she here? Is everyone okay?”

“We’re fine,” snaps the waterbender. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of Azula. “She didn’t try anything.”

“I’m not going to,” Azula sighs. “Really, how dense are you all? No wonder you get along so well with Zuzu.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

Azula rolls her eyes. The door opens, and a certain Fire Lord and his uncle step into the room.

Great.

Iroh doesn’t look surprised to see Azula, necessarily. He’s certainly not pleased, but when Azula lifts her chin to make unflinching eye contact, his expression softens slightly

And Azula has absolutely zero idea of what to make of _that._

Zuko’s expression, however, is as easy to read as ever, going from whatever it was to a shocked, horrified realization. He locks eyes with Azula.

“Shit,” he says, quite eloquently. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

Azula lets her head thud back against the head of the chair. "Well done," she says, making zero effort hide her annoyance. “You’re hopeless.”

“Oh, shut up,” snaps Mai, and Azula starts slightly. She hadn’t realized that she had come into the room. She fixes Mai with a glare, who returns it before looking away.

The Water Tribe warrior is looking between Azula and Zuko with an opened mouth, the very definition of confusion. He closes his mouth, opens it again, then pauses.

“She was telling the truth?” he asks. “You invited her here?”

“Toph,” says Zuko tiredly. “Could you… put the floor back?”

The earthbender doesn’t look happy about it, but she stomps her foot and the restraints fall away from Azula’s body. She makes another gesture, and the rocks slam back into the ground in a surprisingly accurate replication of the design from before.

“Thank you,” Zuko says. “And, yes. Azula is here by my request. We struck a deal based on some information that she was able to obtain.”

“Is this why you asked us to come here?” the Avatar asks. “Because of… her?”

The Avatar hasn’t looked directly at Azula for the entire time that he’s been in the room. She’s reminded, a little forcefully, that he’s twelve. And that she’s only two years older than him. And that everything has fallen apart because of him, that he took away Father’s bending, that he put _Zuko_ on the throne while she’s sitting here, having lost everything, with Mother in her head and Father in prison and--

She is also reminded of the fact that she literally killed him back in Ba Sing Se. This is a marginally more pleasant thought.

Hm. She’s attempted to kill two of the seven total people in the room. Three, if she counts the little skirmish with Iroh in the desert, and four if she counts the suicide contemplations and the amount of potentially near-death experiences she’s had over the past few months, experiences that she very much brought upon herself.

She wonders if anyone else realizes this.

“Yes,” says Zuko. “I want to look for my mother. Ozai gave Azula a lead, and Azula gave me information. We’re going to a town called Hira’a.”

“What’s the catch?” asks the earthbender.

“Azula’s condition,” says Zuko, then hesitates, looking around at everyone as though preparing to catalogue all of their reactions, “was that she join me in the search. She will travel unbound and with dignity.”

Unsurprisingly, general chaos erupts. Azula yawns, tuning out the exclamations of the Avatar and his friends.

They really are a predictable bunch, aren’t they?

“That’s why we’re here,” says the Water Tribe warrior, once everyone has calmed down a little bit. “Because we need to keep an eye on her? While we search for… your mother? Who’s missing?”

Zuko shrugs. “Something like that. She’s been missing for years, so I’m not getting my hopes up too high.”

It’s a blatant lie. Azula examines her nails, feigning boredom while she watches everyone’s reactions out of the corner of her eye.

The Avatar and his friends are looking at Zuko with sympathy, with this horrible _pity_ in their eyes that makes Azula want to burn them all alive, even though she’s not even the one the look is being aimed at. She wonders, briefly, if they remember that this discussion is about her mother, too, and then wonders why she even cares about that in the first place.

Though, to be fair, Zuko also looks like he wants to set something on fire under their gazes. He exchanges a look with Iroh.

 _I told you,_ Zuko seems to say with his eyes. Iroh looks curiously resigned.

“You really think that bringing…” The Water Tribe warrior glances at Azula. “You think this is a good idea?”

“No,” both Zuko and Mai say at the same time. They look at each other, surprised.

“You’re so supportive,” says Zuko.

“Only for you,” Mai deadpans. Her face is wiped clean of any and all emotion other than the mask of boredom she’s always put up, but Azula can see the slight twitch at the corner of her lip, signifying the beginnings of a smile. Azula has never seen her smile so easily in the presence of others. Not unless Zuko is there, which--

Oh, _ew._ They really _are_ still dating, aren’t they?

“Keep it in your pants, you two,” Azula says mildly. “If I’m going to be traveling with you both for the next few days, I’d rather not bear witness to--”

“Shut up,” Zuko interrupts. His face is a wonderful shade of red, and he looks a little bit like he’s going to strangle her. Azula wouldn’t be able to stop herself from smiling even if she wanted to. “Just-- shut up.”

“Gladly,” she says. “You know, if I’d known that getting you to tackle her into a fountain all of those years ago would lead to this--”

“I will stab you,” says Mai monotonously.

“As much as I would love to see that,” the Water Tribe warrior says quickly, “let’s maybe get back to the topic at hand? Because, uh, _what.”_

“Why is Uncle here?” the earthbender asks. Azula wrinkles her nose.

 _“Uncle?”_ she says. “Unless we’ve managed to _adopt_ a tiny dirt gremlin in the months I’ve been put away--”

“Dirt gremlin?” asks the earthbender. “Huh. That’s new.”

“Would you prefer _dirt peasant?”_ Azula asks politely, because she’s not a heathen. The earthbender narrows her eyes.

“I’m not a peasant, _princess._ I’m a Beifong.”

“Since when do the Beifongs have a daughter?”

“What is happening?” murmurs the waterbender.

“Okay, everyone, just--” Zuko closes his eyes. “Uncle is here to stand in as the Fire Lord while we search for Mother. You all are here because I need your help to look for Mother.”

Zuko pauses, suddenly hesitant. “Only-- only if you’re willing, though. Mai and I can go by ourselves if you all are--”

“Are you kidding?” the waterbender asks. “Of course we’re going.”

“We’re your friends, Zuko,” says the Avatar eagerly, and Azula maybe wants to vomit a little at the sheer amount of enthusiasm the child possesses. She thinks she would probably combust into actual and literal flames if she had even a fraction of his energy. “We’re coming with you.”

Zuko looks a little overwhelmed. He’s looking around at his friends with wide eyes, not seeming to believe what he’s hearing. It’s a little pitiful, if Azula is being honest.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I really-- Thank you.”

_Gross._

Someone is going to end up dead by the end of this search. Azula just needs to figure out if it’ll be her, one of Zuko’s friends, Zuko, or Mother. If she’s even still alive.

Azula sighs heavily. Both Mai and the waterbender glare at her.

\---

“Alright, Sparky. Sit down.”

Zuko isn’t really given a choice in the matter. Sokka is shoving him into his desk chair before Toph has even finished speaking, and Katara already has her water skin uncorked in preparation for resistance. Mai is leaning against the wall, the faintest expression of amusement on her face, while Aang positions himself right in front of Zuko.

“Um,” says Zuko. “You know, I was just trying to take you all to the rooms you’ll be staying in, right? You don’t have to--”

“We’re staying here,” announces Toph. “We’ll be camping together for the next few days, anyways, so we might as well get used to this.”

“Actually, since we’re looking for a human person in a town, we’re probably going to be staying in more inns than--”

“Shut it, Sparky.”

“Okay.”

“Is this the real intervention?” asks Mai, and everyone turns to look at her. Her arms are folded across her chest, a hand tucked casually into her sleeve where Zuko knows she keeps a knife. He’s somewhat comforted by the knowledge that she’s still on guard to protect him, even here, with people that he trusts. It’s really probably more of an indication of the remnants of animosity between her and his friends than anything else, judging by how Katara stiffens ever so slightly at the sound of her voice, though. “Because the other one was admirably ineffective.”

“Yep,” says Sokka. He leans forward, squinting at Zuko. “Because _someone_ thought it would be a great idea to just _ignore_ the letter we sent.”

“I responded eventually."

“And proceeded to ignore the main point of the letter in your response,” Sokka says. He wiggles his fingers. “Intervention, Zuko. You’re not allowed to leave until we’ve properly intervened.”

“This is my room--”

“Nope,” says Toph. “Did you eat dinner yet?”

“No,” says Zuko tiredly, already knowing where this is going. He doesn’t need to look at Mai to know that she’s smiling.

“Cool. Will servants listen to me?”

Zuko sighs. “Kitchen is down the hall, two rights and a left.”

“Thanks. Twinkletoes, let’s go.”

Aang blinks. “But--”

_“Aang.”_

It’s the sound of Aang’s actual name from Toph’s mouth that brings Zuko up short. He watches as Aang leaves the room immediately, no longer hesitating. The door shuts behind the two of them, leaving Zuko and Mai alone with Sokka and Katara, and he can hear Aang say, “What was that all about?”

“Great,” says Sokka, sitting down on top of the desk. “The children are gone. We can actually have an uncensored conversation, now. Thank the spirits for Toph. Is it too late to get your uncle in here?”

Zuko eyes him warily. “What are you planning?”

“An intervention,” repeats Sokka. “Duh.”

"What could you possibly need to discuss that would require Toph and Aang to leave the room?" asks Zuko, bewildered. "They've seen just as much as we have."

Katara sits down at the edge of Zuko’s bed. Zuko can’t help but feel a little cornered with the three of them like this, Mai at the wall, Katara at the bed, Sokka at the desk, and Zuko in a chair with all eyes on him. It feels… weird.

He doesn’t like it.

“And why would Uncle need to be here?” Zuko adds carefully, suspiciously. “He already knows everything.”

Katara and Sokka exchange a look.

“Zuko…” Katara sighs, wrapping her arms around herself. “There’s no easy way to say this. Mai filled us in on everything that’s happened here, and we-- we wanted to ask something.”

Zuko looks up, staring at Mai.

“Not those things,” she says quietly. “Just the assassination attempts.”

“Not the…” Zuko trails off.

“Those are things that you should tell them,” says Mai. “I didn’t. But I have a feeling that they might already know based on your previous experiences.”

Zuko looks away, down at his legs. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

“What did you want to ask?” he says quietly. In the corner of his eye, he can see Katara and Sokka trade anxious glances.

“This is not the best way to do this,” Mai mutters.

“Then what would you suggest?” Katara asks sharply, but there’s no hostility to it. She sounds a little desperate.

“Not this,” says Mai. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever seen, and I’m dating _him.”_

“What are you--”

“Trust me,” snaps Mai. “You’ve got the right intentions, but this is not the best way to go about it. Just let him tell you what happened, and I’ll handle what you two are trying to do right now. That’s a conversation he’s not going to have with you guys. He hasn’t brought it up to _me_ in an explicit manner yet, so there’s no way that this is going to end well. Let me handle it.”

“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” asks Zuko exasperatedly.

Katara looks away from Mai. She glances hesitantly at Sokka, who shrugs.

“You’ve got it?” asks Katara, glancing at Mai. Mai nods. “Okay. In that case, never mind everything we just said.”

“What--”

“We’re moving from intervention to well-intentioned threats,” says Sokka. “Take care of yourself, or else we’re permanently moving into the palace and taking shifts to make sure that you eat three meals and sleep eight hours.”

_“Eight hours--”_

“I mean it!” Sokka says. “We already discussed this on the ride here. I’m not kidding when I say that we’re willing to drop everything to make sure that you don’t k--”

“Sokka,” hisses Katara.

“--don’t, uh, screw things up,” Sokka finishes lamely. “Intentionally or not. Yeah. That’s what I was going to say.”

Zuko levels him with an unimpressed look.

“Anyways,” Sokka continues, undeterred. “You do seem to be doing a little better, though? At least based on what Mai’s told us from how you looked when she showed up. So I don’t think that we’re going to _need_ to forcefully immigrate to the Fire Nation, but it’s still an option. And I’ve got the blackmail if all else fails.”

“You’ve had this blackmail for _months;_ what could you possibly have on me that-- You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.” Zuko folds his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Are we done?” he asks rather irritably. “Because I still don’t know what’s been going on with you all. Were you in the North Pole together the whole time?”

“Eh,” says Sokka, shrugging. “Katara’s still kicking ass as an ambassador. Aang, Toph, and I have been traveling together for a bit after Toph ran away again and I left my position in the Northern Water Tribe. We were going to head to Ba Sing Se, but Suki sent us letters telling us not to come.”

“She mentioned political unrest in her letter to me,” Zuko says, nodding. “That’s why I didn’t ask her to come here. I figured she’d be busy enough already.”

He frowns at Katara. “But why are you here? You have better things to do than this, don’t you?”

“Okay,” says Katara. “First of all, nothing is more important than helping out my friends. Second, since they can’t officially kick me out because Chief Arnook likes me, the men at the Northern Water Tribe were practically _begging_ me to leave when they found out I was considering ‘taking a break.’ They’re glad for it, trust me. Besides, I really could use a rest from constant belittlement. I’ll bring chaos when I get back to make up for it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Sokka glances at the door, then back at Zuko. “And,” he says quietly, “about Toph.”

“Oh,” says Zuko, eyes widening. “Right. Is she…?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

“Her parents contacted me in the North Pole before they came,” says Katara. “They must’ve figured out that I’m friends with her. I haven’t told her yet because I’ve been nervous about her reaction, but they essentially told me that they would charge me with kidnapping if I didn’t turn Toph over to them.”

“Just like what they tried with Aang,” says Sokka. “They haven’t come for me yet, possibly because I’m a little harder to reach, and they’re most likely too scared to contact you, Zuko. But it was… alarming to read those letters.”

Mai lets out a hiss of air from between her teeth. "Shit," she says. Zuko agrees.

“They’re overprotective to a near abusive extent,” says Sokka, shaking his head. “She hasn’t taken any of this well. She keeps denying that she misses them, that she loves them… She’s been better since we got that letter from you, Zuko, but she was really messed up for awhile. You not responding didn’t exactly… help things. She was more worked up about it than any of us. And we were _all_ freaking out, so you can imagine how bad she got.”

Zuko’s lips part. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Shit, I-- I didn’t even--”

It’s just like with Mai, isn’t it? Just like before. He failed to consider how they might be feeling, just like how he failed to consider Mai. He just focused on himself. Just himself.

Again, again, again. Fingernails digging crescents into soft palms, skipped meals, sleepless nights. Silence.

Again. Again. Again.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Katara. “It’s over, now. And you’ll tell us if something’s up next time, right?”

She glares at him.

“Right,” says Zuko, even though he’s not really sure if he means it. Katara narrows her eyes, but she lets it go.

Aang and Toph come back a few minutes later with a tray laden with food. It lasts about ten minutes total, ending up completely demolished in the presence of four teenagers and two hyperactive twelve year olds.

Aang and Sokka seem dead-set on getting a cuddle pile going, but Mai pointedly shoves them all out of the room the moment that Katara yawns. She’s met with little resistance, significantly less than if Zuko had been the one to force them out, possibly because it’s Mai, and Mai is intimidating even without the fact that she, too, chased them all around the world. And she didn’t get to go on life-changing field trips to make up for it, so the room is empty in an almost record amount of time.

Zuko is mildly impressed. He tells Mai as much.

“They’ll have plenty of time to have ‘cuddle piles’ with you when we’re out looking for your mother,” Mai mumbles, collapsing face-first onto Zuko’s bed. She motions for him to join her, not lifting her head. “I only get you to myself for tonight.”

Zuko flops onto the bed beside her. He runs a hand through her hair, marveling a little at how it shines between his fingers. “We’ll have inns,” he says. “It’s not like we’ll be outside camping all of the time.”

Mai sighs. “Yeah,” she says, “but they’ll still _be_ there. You know I hate public physical affection as much as you do. And _Azula_ will be there.”

“Okay, I see your point, but I don’t get why that--”

Mai jerks up abruptly, causing Zuko to start, hand instinctively flying to his leg to unsheathe his knife. But Mai just grabs him by the front of his shirt and presses her lips to his.

Which. He’s not opposed to.

He’s definitely not opposed.

“Oh,” says Zuko when their lips break apart, his voice much hoarser than it was about five seconds earlier. “Um.”

“Um?” says Mai, smiling. “That’s it?”

Zuko can feel his cheeks heating up. “That was nice,” he tries. “That was really, really nice. Also, I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mai informs him, and pulls him back in.

\---

“Good morning, Azula! Beautiful day for a trip, isn’t it?”

It is, in fact, a beautiful day, and Azula scowls up at the bright blue sky as she walks towards the sky bison, carrying nothing more than a simple satchel slung over her shoulder. It’s possibly the lightest she’s ever traveled, and not by choice. She literally does not own enough things to fill even this bag anymore.

She narrows her eyes at the Avatar, perched at the top, squinting in the sunlight, and scoffs loudly.

“Hmph,” she says, dropping the bag on the ground and folding her arms. “Be careful when you put my luggage up on that shaggy beast of yours.”

The sky bison growls in response. Azula glares.

She’s not beyond admitting that she’s grateful for the change of clothes, however, both the ones in her bag and on her back. They’re clean, for one, and closer to regular Fire Nation wear than what the institution put her in. It’s actually quite nice, the feeling of soft, fresh fabric on her skin. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

The promise of freedom waiting ahead of her is also quite nice. Even if she’ll be guarded by this gang of overpowered children, at least she’ll be able to walk around.

Fantasizing about Mother’s corpse or killing her herself is even nicer. Even if it’s not so much the prospect of death as much as it is the potential for Mother to finally leave her alone.

“I still think this is a terrible idea,” she hears the waterbender say to Zuko quietly.

“We’ll take turns guarding her,” Zuko responds. “At least one of us needs to keep an eye on her at all times.”

Azula would tell them that she has no intention of slaughtering them all because of how much she has to gain from this arrangement, but there’s no fun in that. Instead, she makes eye contact with the Water Tribe warrior with the boomerang and smiles.

The peasant looks appropriately alarmed.

“Katara,” Azula hears Iroh say. “Would you mind if I spoke to my nephew for a moment?”

“Of course not,” the waterbender says kindly, and Azula rolls her eyes. The waterbender bids Iroh farewell and climbs up on top of the sky bison to join the Avatar.

Azula can’t resist. She turns around so that Iroh and Zuko are positioned in the corner of her eye, watching them as casually as she can.

Iroh is wearing something similar to Fire Lord regalia, though he has forgone the crown. Beside him stands Zuko, dressed lightly in soft, breathable fabrics, and Azula can’t help but think that this looks so much more appropriate. This is how it should've ended if Father failed. Fire Lord Iroh, Prince Zuko.

She does not understand why Iroh did not take the throne. She would ask him, but talking to Iroh is the last thing that she wants to do.

She can’t hear them at the volume that their voices have dropped to, but the conversation seems to be important. Zuko looks stressed, talking fast and clearly keeping a firm hand on the volume of his voice, while Iroh’s tone is softer, almost placating. Zuko finally calms down, nodding as he touches his forehead with a grimace, and Iroh pulls him into a hug.

 _Ugh._ Disgusting.

Azula turns away, rolling her eyes again. To her horror, when Iroh and Zuko break apart, Iroh starts walking over to her.

Oh, no. No, no, no. No. Absolutely not.

Azula tries her best to ignore him, but it’s too late. The man is standing in front of her now, all old and tea-smelling, and his lips are pressed into a tight line rather than in the gentle smile she’s seen him wear around literally everyone else.

“Azula,” says Iroh. “Could you spare a moment to talk with me?”

Azula grits her teeth together.

“Funny,” she says coldly, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “You leave the palace with my brother without saying goodbye, throw me off a ship when we see each other for the first time in three years, and now you want to talk.”

“Azula," Iroh says, hatefully gentle, speaking almost like Mother with that subtle note of sadness and grief in his tone. "We have much to talk about. I do not want to let you leave on such an emotional journey like this without clearing the air, so please, hear me out--"

“No,” Azula says. She looks directly at Iroh, gaze burning right into him. “I don’t think I will.”

Azula picks up her bag herself, swinging it back over her shoulder, and marches over to the sky bison. She can feel Iroh’s eyes on her back, can sense the disappointment and regret radiating off of him.

“How do you expect me to get on this thing?” Azula snaps, and the Avatar jumps from where he sits beside the waterbender.

“Y-you can just climb up!” the Avatar says quickly, eyes wide. His gaze flicks somewhere behind Azula, likely to Iroh, and then back to Azula’s barely restrained expression. “You won’t hurt him. Just grab tufts of his fur and haul yourself up.”

“What makes you think that I'm concerned about hurting him?"

“Can you just be _nice_ for _one second?”_ the waterbender asks sharply.

“Have you _met_ me?” Azula asks sweetly. “I’m always nice.”

Before the conversation can descend into actual and literal murder, Mai unceremoniously throws her bag and Zuko’s up into the bison’s saddle. She gives Azula a look.

“After you,” she says. Azula sneers.

“How kind.”

It takes a few more minutes to get everyone settled. Azula sits at the very back of the saddle to keep an eye on everyone, and when Zuko gets there, he positions himself right beside her without a moment of hesitation. Mai sits beside him, the earthbender and the Water Tribe warrior across, and the waterbender and the Avatar at the bison’s head. Iroh waves from where he stands at the ground, smiling broadly.

“May you find who and what you are searching for,” he calls, “and may you find peace along the way.”

“Crazy old man,” Azula mutters under her breath.

But everyone else is calling back to him, waving and shouting, and then the bison is _lifting off,_ and Azula had very conveniently forgotten that they would be traveling _by air._ She’s temporarily distracted as the bison climbs higher into the air, knuckles white with the force of her grip on the edge of the saddle, but she refuses to allow it to show on her face. Iroh’s figure becomes nothing more than a speck far, far below on the ground.

And they fly for Hira’a.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I officially hate writing scenes with more than three people in them. How do people do this? How am I going to do this?
> 
> I can't believe I'm actually going to say this, but I miss writing politics. I have this whole thing planned out in the arc after this that's just-- it's just so good.
> 
> Okay but I have been *waiting* to add the Azula & the Gaang tag to this fic? I wish I could've gotten Suki in here, but it just didn't work out that way. But I'm so ready for this. I am so, so ready. Get ready for Zuko and Azula making everyone uncomfortable with their shared childhood trauma <333
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	20. the search (2): rules we break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers it like she remembers the color of the sky, as vividly as though she is reliving it with each recollection. Zuko, kneeling in front of Father, and Father’s outstretched hand, cupping his face as though to comfort him. Then the fire, the screaming, the smell of burning flesh, the horror and nauseated shock flashing over the audience’s faces before they could reign their expressions in as flesh dripped, dripped, dripped to the stone tile below. The silence that followed, heavy and horrible and unbearable.
> 
> Azula wants to respond with a barbed jab out of habit, a cruel sneer and a few words strung together in a way that she knows will hurt him most, but she doesn’t.
> 
> Because he’s being serious.
> 
> \---
> 
> Or, they attempt to stay in an inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: "azula burns another bed"
> 
> I'm seriously considering saying fuck consistency and giving my chapters stupid titles. I feel incredibly pretentious with these chapter titles tbh lmao. Also, two short beginning notes in a row? A record.
> 
> I don't think there's a CW for this one? But I could be wrong, so lmk if I missed something.

“You know,” says Azula, after about ten minutes of unbearably awkward silence, “I somehow thought that this thing would be a lot faster.”

The Avatar whirls around where he sits at the head, eyes sparkling. “That’s exactly what Zuko said!” he says eagerly.

Azula stares at him, unimpressed. The Avatar visibly wilts.

“Great,” says the Water Tribe warrior, after the briefest of pauses. “There are two of them.”

“It was worse when we were younger,” Mai says, mostly to herself, but Azula hears it.

“Back when we weren’t trying to kill each other, you mean?” she asks, smiling.

“You were always trying to kill me,” Zuko mutters. His arms are folded across his chest, expression dangerously close to how it was during his banishment. If his hair were back in that ridiculous phoenix tail, he would look exactly the same as that angry, sullen teenager. “Remember when you pushed me off of the roof?”

“Which time?” asks Azula pleasantly. “You fell, Zuzu.”

“I didn’t fall every single time,” says Zuko. “Or what about the time you held my head under the water of the turtleduck pond?”

“How was I supposed to know that you would be too weak to--”

“Or,” says Zuko triumphantly, straightening up, “the time you threw my knife at me when I asked you to give it back!”

There’s a silence. Azula considers this.

“I’ll give you that one,” she says, nodding. Zuko looks satisfied, sitting back and folding his arms again. “Was that after Mother died?”

“Disappeared,” Zuko corrects immediately, and Azula rolls her eyes. “And I think it was before. Lu Ten was still there, remember? He’s the one who--”

“Yelled at me, yes, I remember,” Azula says. “He tried to tell Father, and then he--”

“Blamed it on me. How could I forget?”

The two of them share amused looks. Zuko opens his mouth to say something else, but the words die in his throat, eyes flickering. Azula turns to look.

Everyone on the bison is staring at them with undisguised horror. Except Mai, whose expression has a touch of resignation in there.

The only sound is the cold winter wind.

“Is this normal?” the waterbender asks in a small voice, glancing at Mai.

“Yes,” Mai says, sounding every bit like she’s about to hurl herself off of the bison. “This is very normal.”

“Wow,” says the earthbender. “Child abuse.”

Zuko snorts. The earthbender grins at him, wide and all teeth, and holds out a fist for Zuko to bump. He does just that, and Azula leans back slightly from their arms, narrowing her eyes.

“So,” says Azula, once the dirt gremlin has returned back to her spot, because whatever barrier that had been between them all has clearly been broken. Zuko stiffens noticeably as she leans forward, hands tightening where they rest on the edge of the saddle. “Tell me, kids. I’ve been _dying_ to know. Which one of you miscreants did she approach first?”

Everyone stares.

“What are you talking about?” the waterbender snaps, and Azula can’t help how her lip curls in amusement, because _really._ How stupid do they think she is?

“Azula,” Zuko warns. He holds out a hand to push her gently back down, and Azula hadn’t even realized she was starting to get up. She slaps his hand away.

“None of you had even met me yet!” Azula snarls. Dimly, she’s aware that she’s shaking slightly, that her eyes are wider than they should be, eyebrows drawn so tightly together that her skin almost hurts. There’s a pounding in her head that isn’t just from the altitude, and her hands are clenched tightly as she starts to push herself up. “How did she convince you to help ruin my life?”

“Azula--”

“I’m the only true threat to the throne, Zuzu,” Azula says, not even bothering to look at him. Her hand finds her boot almost instinctively, checking to make sure that the letter she tucked there is still secured in place. “My fall from grace--”

“Was not what I wanted,” snaps Zuko. “Azula, we can discuss this later; please sit back d--”

“Is this part of your plan, too?” Azula asks, voice rising as realization begins to dawn on her. “Putting me on this chase for Mother’s corpse so that you can do away with me once and for all? I knew she had a grip on you, but I never--”

“Azula!”

Zuko’s fist is in front of her face, smoking slightly. He’s glaring at her, and if she didn’t know him well enough to see the anxiety, the fear, the worry in his eyes, she might’ve been shocked into silence.

As it is, Azula just raises an eyebrow. He looks like a teapot.

“Put that away, Zuzu,” she says quietly. Her lips are tugged upwards, but her eyes are hard as steel. “It’s just small talk.”

She nudges his fist. He drops it, but he keeps his eyes on her.

“We agreed to stay civil,” he says in a low voice. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Yes, very well,” says Azula dismissively, waving a hand in the air. She cuts a glance to the Avatar and his friends, all of whom are staring, wide-eyed, at her. “Apologies. I got carried away.”

“You don’t actually think that we want to kill you, do you?” the Avatar asks. He’s turned completely around to face the group, grey eyes widened, almost like Ty Lee’s when she gets all hurt and wounded about something.

Azula opens her mouth.

“Don’t,” says Zuko tiredly, and it's not entirely clear whether he's talking to the Avatar or Azula. “Just… Let’s not get into that right now.”

They fly in silence.

\---

“We should stop in this town up ahead before we keep going,” says the Water Tribe warrior, peering down at his map. “We’d normally be able to go straight to Hira’a, but Appa probably isn’t used to carrying this many passengers at once. It’ll be safer if we take a break tonight.”

Appa bellows in response. The warrior grins.

“That’s right, buddy,” he says. “I’m your favorite, aren’t I?”

“You said that about Chief Arnook,” the waterbender says, a smile beginning to spread across her face. “And guess who his favorite is now?”

“Katara,” says the Water Tribe warrior. He puts a hand to his chest. “I’m still his favorite. He just doesn’t know how to say it. You’re _annoying_ him.”

“Well, yes,” the waterbender says. “But he also likes me more. I’m productive.”

“And also yelling at his men every single chance you get--”

“Oh, so you _don’t_ want me to call out backwards customs?”

Azula scoffs loudly, causing the earthbender to start. “You say that like your tribe isn’t a mere collection of igloos,” she says mildly. A smile spreads across her face as Zuko stiffens and the waterbender’s eyes flash as she whirls to face Azula completely.

“Maybe,” she practically spits, “we’d be a little further along than we are now if it weren’t for the Fire Nation. Did you ever think of that?”

“Katara,” the Avatar begins nervously, but Azula’s smile widens.

“I did,” she says, eyebrow raised. “Your people were clearly too weak to fight us off. I would say that your tribe’s condition is deserved.”

The Water Tribe warrior’s eyes narrow, his anger a sharp contrast to the playful energy from before. It’s quite interesting to watch, and Azula makes a note to prod at this more in the future. “You--”

“Okay!” shouts Zuko. He holds out both hands, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Azula. If you’re going to provoke people, at least make it less obvious. Sokka, Katara - please refrain from killing my sister. I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” seethes the waterbender. She glares at Azula for a moment or two longer, hostility practically radiating off of the warrior. The dirt gremlin has tightened her grip on the Water Tribe warrior’s arm, either holding him back or holding herself back, it isn’t quite clear.

“Alright,” says the earthbender. “New topic.”

The new topic is more silence.

Azula is somewhat disappointed by the lack of reaction.

\---

They land in a forest just outside of a town big enough to have inns, small enough that Azula doesn’t recognize the name when the Water Tribe warrior butchers the pronunciation on the map. The earthbender practically throws herself off of Appa, singing praises to the earth while the Avatar airbends himself and the waterbender to the ground gracefully.

“I thought you said that you were a Beifong,” says Azula disdainfully as Zuko tosses everyone’s bag off of the bison, Mai helping to distribute them to their respective owners. “You’re acting like a peasant.”

The earthbender sits up. “I left noble life,” she says sharply. Azula smiles, sharp and pointed.

“Touchy subject?” she asks. “I can relate.”

Azula laughs as the earthbender pulls herself to her feet, scowling. It’s not the kind that pulls at her throat and strains her mouth, and she can tell by the way that Zuko tenses and then relaxes that he notices, too.

“Let’s get into the town,” says Zuko, adjusting the position of his bag on his shoulder. “We’ll rent some rooms at an inn and stay the night. Tomorrow, we’ll head off to Hira’a and get started.”

“It feels like we’ve been out here for days already,” grumbles the earthbender. She kicks the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “I miss Suki.”

“You and me both, buddy,” sighs the Water Tribe warrior. “Let’s go and get this over with.”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Are you serious?” she drawls, and the warrior pauses mid-step. Azula jerks her head towards Zuko and the Avatar. “Those two are eyesores. You can’t just walk into the middle of a Fire Nation town with the Avatar and the Fire Lord and expect nothing to happen.”

This is a very good point, and Azula can tell by the way the Avatar’s friends exchange looks with each other that they realize it. Which means that they’re not _completely_ idiotic.

What _is_ completely idiotic is that none of them have anything to disguise themselves with.

Hoods. _Hoods._ That’s the best that they can come up with. And maybe it works for the Avatar, as it covers his tattoo, but Zuko has a gigantic burn scar courtesy of Father. Azula tells this to Zuko.

“It’s not like we have anything else,” Mai says testily. “Unless you want him to wear that Blue Spirit mask? I’m sure he brought it.”

“Mai,” says Zuko, pained.

“A mask?” asks Azula, interest piqued. “Is this when you were robbing people in the Earth Kingdom? I believe I saw a wanted poster.”

Zuko does not dignify this with a response.

The town is small, the marketplace pitiful. It’s nearly evening, the sky a bright orange-gold, and it’s cold enough out that Azula tugs her hood a little further over herself.

She doesn’t bother to take in any information beyond this. She might have, once, back when she was younger, more bright-eyed, convinced that she was invincible, but she’s far too occupied with making sure that none of the Avatar’s gang will try to kill her when her back is turned. She doesn’t think the Avatar himself would go so far, considering that he couldn’t even kill Father, but she wouldn’t put it past the others.

Speaking of which, the dirt gremlin is hovering a little too close to Azula for comfort. She’s not staring at her, because she’s blind, but she’s doing this weird thing with her toes as she walks that makes Azula think that she’s still keeping an eye on her in her own way.

Azula doesn’t like this.

They wait outside of a small wooden inn while Zuko and Mai go inside to secure rooms for them. Azula folds her arms, eyes scanning their surroundings while the waterbender and her brother start bickering about something or the other. She tunes this out easily.

The Avatar, in comparison to the two of them, is very short. He looks… young.

And Azula had realized this, before, when she was chasing him. But she hadn’t allowed herself to process it, to register it completely, in the way she allows herself to now. Father fell to the Avatar, but Azula has not connected the Avatar and the twelve year old monk before her in her head.

The earthbender has somehow gotten even closer to Azula.

“Waterbender,” says Azula, snapped from her thoughts and thoroughly annoyed. “Watch the child.”

The waterbender looks momentarily confused, but then her eyes land on the earthbender. An internal conflict seems to war in her for a few moments as she fights between not wanting to heed Azula’s order and wanting to yank the earthbender as far away from Azula as physically possible.

In the end, the earthbender drops any pretense of just straying towards Azula in favor of turning right towards her.

“Do you even know any of our names?” she asks. “You’re not just referring to us with those labels, are you?”

“Why would I bother to learn your names?” Azula scoffs.

“You don’t--” The Water Tribe warrior gapes. “You chased us all over the world! How do you not know our names?”

“To be fair,” says Zuko, glancing over his shoulder, “I didn’t know your names until I joined you guys at the Western Air Temple. I knew Aang’s name, but no one else’s.”

“We shouted each other’s names during battles!”

“You shouted a lot of things!”

“Tui and La,” says the Water Tribe warrior incredulously. He shakes his head. “I’m embarrassed for you.”

The Avatar clears his throat. “I’m Aang,” he says, smiling at Azula. It’s the first time he’s met her eye this entire time, and there’s tension clearly held in his entire body. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“This is stupid,” declares Azula.

“I’m Sokka,” says the Water Tribe warrior. He points at the waterbender. “That’s my sister, Katara. And the ‘dirt gremlin’ is Toph.”

“I didn’t ask,” says Azula pleasantly.

“We’re trying to be nice,” snaps the waterbender. “You could at least be polite!”

Azula smiles. “I could be trying to kill you all right now,” she points out, “but I’m not. I believe that that is the extent to which our relationship should go to. This is an alliance, not a friendship.”

“Yeah,” says the waterbender, glaring. “And thank the spirits for that.”

“But,” the Avatar jumps in quickly, eyes flicking between the waterbender and Azula, “don’t you think that our alliance would be better solidified if we’re all on even footing? If we’re calling you by your name, you should call us by ours.”

This is a good point.

“Very well,” Azula says. “I’ll consider it.”

Zuko and Mai choose that moment to return.

“--know you didn’t sign up for this,” Zuko is saying to Mai quietly. Mai’s arms are folded across her chest. “I’m sorry. I wish--”

“It’s not like there’s another option,” says Mai, shaking her head. “It’s okay, Zuko. Don’t worry about it. It’s more important that you’re there to watch her right now than spend time with me. I get it. Seriously. But talk to me, okay?”

Zuko says something too quiet to hear, and Mai’s entire expression softens. Azula looks away, then, because _gross._

“We’ll stay here for tonight,” Zuko says, back to speaking at a normal volume as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the inn. “They only had three rooms available, so we’ll have to group up.”

“Dibs on anyone but Azula,” says Sokka.

“I agree,” says Azula. “I’ll take my own room.”

“Not an option,” Mai says dryly. “I’d rather not wake up to the entire inn being on fire, thanks.”

Azula grins, sharp as a knife. “Who said I’d be killing you all with fire?”

“She doesn’t mean that,” says Zuko tiredly, just as the w-- as Katara is opening her mouth. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and Azula thinks that she should maybe start counting the amount of times that he does that. “Look, I’ll room with Azula, okay? You all can figure something out.”

Which is just _fantastic._

“Don’t burn down the inn,” says Sokka.

\---

Aang, Katara, and Sokka disappear into one room. Toph and Mai go into another.

Zuko and Azula stand awkwardly in the hallway.

“You go first,” says Zuko brusquely, gesturing to the opened door. Azula narrows her eyes.

“Like I’m going to turn my back to you,” she says, and Zuko sighs. He tosses Azula the keys to the room and walks inside, giving her an annoyed look as he throws his bag onto one of the beds.

“Good?” he asks, spreading his arms. Azula walks into the room, her every step seeming to reverberate throughout the space. She sets her bag down on the bed with much more poise than Zuko did, eyes scanning the room critically.

It’s small. Clean, wooden floors, a window across from the door. Two beds are pushed up against the wall to the left, the sheets crisp and fresh-looking. Golden sunlight spills into the room and over the beds. Azula presses her hand into the mattress as subtly as she can.

It’s… softer than the institution’s beds. And the frames are made of wood, not metal.

Maybe she’ll sleep tonight.

“Fine,” she says, nodding at Zuko. “Just as long as you don’t stab me in my sleep, I think this will do.”

Zuko sighs.

He leaves Azula in the room by herself for just a few minutes while he goes to check on the others. Azula thinks that it’s a terrible idea to leave her alone, but she doesn’t voice this aloud, not when she isn’t even planning anything.

She eyes the bed suspiciously.

“Sit down,” says a soft, familiar voice, and Azula feels her entire body go completely rigid. Her head jerks up, eyes searching the room, and her gaze falls on Mother.

How is it that she looks exactly the same, all the time? Robes of red and black and gold, not a strand of hair out of place. And her face, pale and pointed and soft and elegant, closer to Azula’s features than Zuko’s, and Azula thinks it’s terribly ironic that they do not look like the parents that they have tried to emulate.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Azula says. She clenches her hands into fists. “How long has it been? A few hours? Must be a new personal record for you.”

“Azula--”

“I keep telling you to go away,” snaps Azula. She swallows, threading a hand through her hair and _squeezing,_ squeezing so hard that her eyes begin to water with pain. She shuts her eyes, shaking her head. “How is it that you know exactly when to come? Always at my weakest moments, when I least want to see you.”

“I’m not real, Azula,” says Mother quietly. She spreads her arms. Her expression is hatefully _sad,_ and Azula indulges, for a moment, in the familiar fantasy of burning it off of her face. “I’m not here. This is all in your head.”

“Then why,” Azula says from between gritted teeth, jaw so tight that it’s a miracle any words are getting out at all, “can’t I make you go away?”

“Azula?”

Azula whirls around. The Avatar - Aang - stands in the doorway, hesitating. His eyes are wide, darting from Azula into the room.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks.

“None of your business,” says Azula smoothly, except it comes out much shakier than she’d intended. “What do you want?”

She chances a look back over her shoulder. Mother is gone.

The room feels much hotter than usual. Azula’s hand releases her hair, and crumbles of ash fall into her palm.

“Um,” says Aang, shifting slightly. “Zuko wanted you to join us? For dinner, I mean.”

Azula raises an eyebrow. “And he sent _you?”_

“Um,” Aang says again. “I volunteered.”

Azula stares at him.

“That was stupid of you,” she says at last. “And I’m not hungry.”

“Okay,” says Aang. “I’ll, uh. Get going, then?”

Azula smiles, all teeth. Aang immediately darts back down the hallway.

Zuko shows up ten seconds later with a scowl on his face.

“Let’s go,” he says. “If you think that I’m letting you out of my sight for an hour, you’re delusional.”

Azula, if things were a bit different, might’ve taken the opportunity to dramatically throw herself onto the bed and make a point of burying herself beneath the covers. Considering that she can hardly look at the bed without thinking about cuffs on her limbs and hazy, drug-induced sleep, she chooses to fold her arms instead.

“I told the Avatar already,” she says. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t lie,” says Zuko. “You need to eat, Azula. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“I haven’t, actually. Or have you forgotten what I’ve been up to for these past few months?”

Something flickers in Zuko’s eyes at that.

“Aang told me you were talking to someone,” he says quietly. “Are you still seeing Mother?”

“Perhaps,” says Azula. She narrows her eyes. “Why do you want to know? You don’t want to talk to her, do you? She’s horrible company.”

“No, I-- I just--” Zuko cuts himself off. He shakes his head. “Never mind. Let’s go. You need to eat, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Absolutely not.”

Zuko closes his eyes. He exhales, parting his lips, and Azula can see the faint lick of fire weaved in the back of his throat.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says. “Can’t you just let me do that for you?”

“I’ve told you before, Zuzu,” says Azula. “I don’t want your help. You can keep your pity to yourself, because--”

“I’m not pitying you--”

Azula throws her head back, letting out a bark of laughter. “Right,” she says derisively. “You keep looking at me like I’m some kicked animal, but that isn’t pity. Of course not.”

She lets her lip curl as she meets Zuko’s eyes. They’re gold, the same color as Father’s, but so, so different.

She wonders, not for the first time, what Zuko would look like without his scar.

“I want to remind you,” says Azula in a low voice, “that I am not here for _you._ I am not here because I want to bridge the gap between the two of us, and I am not here to make nice with that gang of _children._ I am here to find Mother, and whether we find a human person or a rotted corpse, it will not change any of that. When we’re done, I expect the two of us to go on our own merry ways.”

The letter in her boot seems to press a little more tightly against her leg.

Zuko looks stunned. Azula is embarrassed for him.

“You’re-- you’re my sister, Azula,” he says softly. “I can’t just abandon you.”

And, somehow, out of everything, that is what gets Azula’s anger to rise.

“You keep saying that,” she says sharply.

“Saying what?”

If Azula squints, it isn’t Zuko standing in the doorway. It’s Father. If she squints harder, it’s Lu Ten.

If she squints even harder, it’s Mother.

“You keep saying that I’m your sister,” snaps Azula. Heat is gathering in her palms, in the back of her throat, and she can feel the temperature in the room beginning to rise. Zuko has tensed significantly, arms suddenly at his sides, feet shifted into a defensive stance, as Azula’s voice rises in volume. “You keep saying that I’m your sister, that I’m your family--”

“Because you are--”

_“But I don’t want to be!”_

Zuko stops, staring at her with wide eyes. Azula doesn’t falter.

“You’re weak,” she spits. “You’re weak, a failure, a terrible brother--”

“I’m _trying!”_ shouts Zuko, and yes, somewhere along the way, Azula started shouting, and now they’re both shouting. “I’m trying, Azula! Doesn’t that count for something? I don’t want to see you like this!”

“I don’t give a damn about what you want,” Azula says vehemently. “You need to get it together and stop acting like things are going to be fine between us, because they _aren’t,_ Zuzu. They aren’t, and they never will be.”

Zuko’s eyes flash, and something in his expression shifts. “Don’t you want them to be?” he asks. He takes a step forward, measured and careful and calculated enough that Azula tenses slightly. “Don’t you grieve, even a little bit, for the life that we could’ve had?”

Azula wonders when he got so good with his words. Where he learned to pull raw emotion into threads of glimmering gold, weave tangles of string into reams of silk. Considering that all he learned during his banishment was how to drink and curse like a sailor while committing casual, somewhat unintentional treason on the side, Azula doesn’t think that he learned it on that boat.

She wonders what happened at the Ba Sing Se negotiations all of those months ago.

“You sound just like Father, you know,” she says, and she doesn’t completely mean it, not really, but she relishes in the way that Zuko flinches, stiffens like he’s been struck. “I wonder what he’d think of you like this. I think he’d be quite proud.”

“Stop it,” snaps Zuko.

“You’ve always been so emotional, so kind,” Azula sighs, and this is something she knows, this is a game she knows how to play. Plucking at Zuko’s strings like this, tugging at each strand just harshly enough that it strains under pressure - she knows this better than she knows herself. Especially now. “It was why he banished you, why he burned you, and it’s why you deserved those things. Your weakness was unforgivable. But now, I think, he might be somewhat pleased with what his actions have resulted in. I suppose his efforts didn’t go entirely to waste.”

It’s cruel. It’s almost too much, and Azula knows this. It’s maybe the worst thing that she’s ever said to him, and it’s not even said with any particular venom. She’s stating the truth, nothing more, nothing less, only things that Zuko already knows, things that he has no doubt thought but never voiced aloud, an underlying note of _something else_ beneath it all.

_You deserved it,_ she doesn’t say, but Zuko hears it, she knows he does, because Father taught him this game, too. _You deserved it all._

And then, just to rub salt into the wound, she adds, “I’m almost tempted to let go of any desire I have for the throne. If Father could see the path that you’re headed on, I’m sure you would have his love again.”

She makes herself watch Zuko’s expression crumble and braces for the fire that is to come.

But it doesn’t come.

Zuko’s anger rises and falls, swells and vanishes, pulling in and out like the ocean’s tides. He seems to struggle for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching into fists, but he doesn’t do anything. He lifts his gaze from the floor, meeting Azula’s eyes. There’s a fire burning in them, but it’s different.

It’s very different.

And Azula, who was expecting a fight, who was fully prepared to burn this entire inn to the ground, has no idea what to do with that.

“Can I ask you something?” Zuko asks quietly. It’s unexpected enough that Azula blinks, momentarily taken aback.

“You may,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Why did you laugh that day?”

He says it without a beat of hesitation. His gaze is firm, unyielding, as he looks at Azula, filled with determination and something else, something unreadable.

And he doesn’t need to elaborate. Azula knows exactly what he is talking about.

She remembers it like she remembers the color of the sky, as vividly as though she is reliving it with each recollection. Zuko, kneeling in front of Father, and Father’s outstretched hand, cupping his face as though to comfort him. Then the fire, the screaming, the smell of burning flesh, the horror and nauseated shock flashing over the audience’s faces before they could reign their expressions in as flesh dripped, dripped, dripped to the stone tile below. The silence that followed, heavy and horrible and unbearable.

Azula wants to respond with a barbed jab out of habit, a cruel sneer and a few words strung together in a way that she knows will hurt him most, but she doesn’t.

Because he’s being serious.

This isn’t an argument anymore. He’s broken the rules of the game, has taken a clear and pointed step out of the lines that Azula has drawn. He’s genuinely asking her this question, and he wants a serious answer. And she can tell that this is something that he has been wondering for a long, long time.

This is something that she, too, has wondered for a long time.

She does not know how to answer this question without being weak.

“How do you know that it wasn’t simply because it was amusing?” she tries, attempting a haughty, distanced tone, but it falls just a little too short.

“Azula,” says Zuko quietly. “Please.”

Azula closes her eyes.

Zuko has broken the rules of a game for two. They’re on uneven footing, now, looking at each other from opposite sides of a gaping chasm, and Azula has a choice to make. To jump, to stay, to take a step forward. To play by a set of rules that Zuko has ignored, or to throw it out entirely, just like he has.

_Father can never find out about this._

“I was scared,” she says stiffly, against all better judgement. She opens her eyes, but she doesn’t look at Zuko. “I didn’t know what Father would do to me if I didn’t show some form of pleasure at his actions towards you.”

_(And it was quiet, too quiet, even with your screaming, and the silence that fell was too stifling to ignore, demanding to be broken, and I broke it because I had no other option, because I couldn’t take it anymore--)_

“I thought I was being strong,” says Azula, keeping her tone matter-of-fact and devoid of emotion. She finally looks up to meet Zuko’s gaze, holding it unflinchingly. “I wanted to look away like Uncle did, but I was frightened of what Father would do if I showed such cowardice. But what I did was just as cowardly, if not worse.”

Azula pauses. The silence lingers.

“I’m not sorry for doing it, for the record,” she says sharply. It doesn’t feel like the truth, but Zuko doesn’t need to know that. Azula doesn’t, either. “But that’s why I did it.”

Zuko’s face is wiped clean of emotion. He’s looking at her, taking in her expression like he’s seeing her for the first time. And maybe he is.

“Stop gaping,” Azula snaps. She folds her arms. “I might be a monster, but I’m not completely heartless, you know. As much as I might want to be.”

“You’re not a monster,” says Zuko, and he says it so firmly, in a tone so convinced, that Azula almost, _almost_ believes him. Almost. “You’re not. This just-- This confirms that for me. Not that I needed it confirmed. I would’ve helped you even if you laughed because you thought it was funny.”

“It was a little funny,” says Azula, but it falls flat. Because yes, she’s cruel, but she’s not a--

No. She is a monster. But she’s a monster who knows where to draw the line, apparently.

“Go get dinner, Zuzu,” Azula says sharply, turning away. “I’m not going to run away if you leave. I want to find Mother just as much as you do.”

Azula’s back is to him, now, but she can hear him hesitating in the doorway. His hand lands with a soft thump on the wooden frame as he lets out a sigh.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll bring you something to eat. And I’m trusting you to stay here. Don’t-- don’t make me regret it, Azula.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Azula responds.

When she looks back over her shoulder, Zuko is gone.

Azula reaches down to her boot, pressing her fingers to the sharp rectangle of paper tucked into it. She closes her eyes, remembering the words inked in the letter. The chance that Father offered her.

“Don’t get distracted,” she mutters to herself. “Don’t take your eyes off of the throne.”

She exhales, straightening back up again. Her eyes fall on the bed again.

She really was going to give it a chance.

With a roll of her eyes, ignoring the tightness in her chest, Azula sends a blast of fire into the center of her bed. The sheets immediately catch fire, blue morphing into orange when she releases her hold on the flames. This is definitely the opposite of what Zuko meant by not making him regret it.

Smoke fills the room, and Azula breathes.

\---

They’re kicked out of the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual plot will hit in the next chapter. If you've already read the Search, there aren't going to be any surprises in terms of basic plot structure. I know. Disgusting. But I'm compressing plot in favor of Emotional Moments, so if the pacing seems weird, I promise that it's for the greater good.
> 
> Okay but like,,,, god I am. So excited. The Emotions in this arc? Incredible. Amazing. I have Shit Planned.
> 
> Also, this fic will have copious amounts of Things Burning. In case that wasn't already obvious by the amount of beds Azula's set on fire, not to mention everything else she and Zuko have burned over these twenty chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!! 
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) :)


	21. the search (3): for the broken record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tui and La,” says Sokka. “You’re Roku and Sozin’s love children.”
> 
> Zuko wrinkles his nose. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
> 
> “What else am I supposed to get from Roku is my great-grandfather? You can’t expect me to not say that.”
> 
> \---
> 
> Zuko is tired, Azula is Azula, and Sokka and Zuko have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........ we're back :D
> 
> (yes, i'm dropping proper capitalization for chapter notes. if you've kept an eye on my other fics, it was a long time coming.)
> 
> that was.... a long time. uh. i'm really, really sorry about the wait for this one. i already said this on my tumblr, but just in case you don't follow me there, i briefly lost motivation for a hot second there, and life has been super super hectic for me lately. but we're back! again, i'm really sorry for leaving you all hanging there. thank you so so much for your patience <3
> 
> the wait for the next chapter will likely be another long one. this next week is going to be a lot for me, but after that, i'm basically in the clear. just... please bear with me!! i promise i'm not going to give this one up anytime soon - if at all, if i can help it, so please don't worry!
> 
> no cw's this time? i think? standard warning for azula being azula, though, and also some brief canon-typical violence (but it's really even less than that).
> 
> i hope this absolute madness of 7k words, the most plot that has ever been featured in a single chapter, makes up for the long wait. enjoy <3

“We specifically told you not to burn down the inn,” says Sokka.

It’s the next morning, cold and cloudy and horrible. The outline of the sun is visible through the grey clouds, the air bitter and iced, and they’re all on top of Appa, having attempted sleep while on top of the bison rather than setting up camp with the supplies they did not bring. Everyone is glaring at Azula.

Zuko is tired.

By the time this is all over, he’s probably going to have a permanent mark where he’s been reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s done it at least twenty times in the past hour alone.

It’s cold. It’s so fucking cold, and Zuko is tired.

He wishes he went off with Mai to buy camping gear. They had agreed to never stay in an inn again over the course of this journey, so Mai had volunteered to go buy supplies. She had the right idea.

He feels like he’s the father to a group of rambunctious children, except the youngest of these children are only four years away from his age. If this is what having kids is like, he will never be having kids.

It’s almost as bad as having to reign Aang in during the days leading up to Sozin’s Comet, but this is worse. This is so much worse. Azula is a prodigy in firebending and strategy, yes, but her greatest talent has always been riling up Zuko.

He really wishes he went with Mai.

“I didn’t burn down the inn,” Azula says, rolling her eyes. “I set the bed on fire. There’s a difference, though I suppose your tiny brain wouldn’t be able to comprehend that.”

“Be quiet,” snaps Katara. “You don’t get to talk about any of us like that after you pulled this. We don’t have anywhere to sleep for tonight. Why in La’s name did you think that burning a _bed_ would be a good idea?”

Zuko remembers the story that Sokka told him about the day Toph ran off on her own shortly after joining them. He remembers a sleep-deprived Katara being heavily featured in it.

Great.

“She probably didn’t think,” says Toph. She scuffs the ground with the heel of her foot, glaring. “I’m tired. Let’s hurry up so we can get rid of Princess over here.”

“Agreed,” mutters Katara.

“Are you sure you’re a Beifong?” asks Azula curiously. “Your father is much stuffier than you are.”

Toph jabs a finger in Azula’s direction. “Watch it, Princess,” she snaps. “Don’t go prying into things that aren’t your business. I can tell what you’re trying to do, and I don’t like it.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Azula drawls, tilting her head innocently. But there’s a slight smirk on her face as her eyes scan Toph’s increasingly agitated expression, and Zuko recognizes the look. He’s seen it directed at himself more than a few times. “Is this why you and Zuzu are so close? I suppose a lack of love from father figures is as good of a reason as any to get close with someone.”

“I don’t know if it was a lack of love more than it was an actively hateful relationship, ‘Zula,” mutters Zuko, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He sighs, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “Let’s just get ready so that when Mai gets back, we can go.”

There are murmurs of agreement as everyone clambers to their feet, stretching out the cricks in their backs from sleeping on top of a bison. Aang says something fond and quiet to Appa that yields him a low rumble in response.

“We could’ve been in bed,” says Sokka mournfully as he shoves the cloak he’d been using as a blanket back into his bag. “We could’ve been in _bed._ We could’ve been _warm._ I could’ve been _asleep_ right now.”

“Sorry,” Azula says, clearly not sorry.

Before anyone can respond, there’s a _thump_ as a large bag lands in the middle of the saddle. Zuko glances off the side in time to see Mai climbing up, swinging her legs over and landing easily on top of Appa. She nods at Aang, and Appa takes off without a moment of hesitation.

“This entire journey is the worst idea you have ever had,” Mai mutters to Zuko. Her hand is so close to his, fingers touching just-so. Warmth radiates from her skin. “And that really is saying something.”

“I’m going to have to agree with that,” Zuko murmurs back. He gives in to the warmth, intertwining their fingers and pressing their palms tightly together. Mai locks their fingers, squeezing once.

No one speaks. There’s nothing but the cold wind, bright sunlight spilling from above as the clouds finally part.

Zuko glances at Azula. She’s at the very back of the saddle, as far away as she can possibly get from everyone else, arms folded across her chest. Her entire body is as tense as a taut bowstring, eyes slightly bloodshot, darting around like she’s watching for something, waiting.

Every single time Zuko thinks that he’s getting somewhere with her, she pulls something that takes them both back a hundred steps in the wrong direction. His conversation with her in the inn, followed immediately by a burned bed. The expression she wore just before he left the room - he isn’t going to be forgetting that for a long, long time. Broken, conflicted, confused. And she’d turned away before he could look.

He wants to ask her, ask her about so many things, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to be an option anytime soon.

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Azula is a child. That she was hurt by Ozai as much as Zuko was, that she felt the sharp lick of fire, even if he never brought it to her skin. She relied on the dangled promise of love, the conditions upon which Ozai’s pride depended on, and it was bad enough when Zuko was there, but what happened when he was gone, nothing to compare Azula to but her previous successes?

He wonders, but he doesn’t ask.

\---

Zuko is so easy to read that Azula almost wants to punch him. One would think, after being raised by Father, that he would have a better handle on himself by now. But, if anything, he’s gotten worse.

She supposes that Iroh is to blame for this, as is the case with most things.

Zuko has not stopped staring at Azula since the sky bison took off. That was hours ago, and he is still staring at her. Everyone is, really, but at least they’re being a bit less obvious about it. At first, Azula ignores him, choosing to fix the Avatar and his friends with faintly unnerving smiles whenever they happen to catch her eye. But Zuko _doesn’t look away._

So, after a few hours, Azula tires of it, and she stares right back at him.

Zuko doesn’t flinch when they lock eyes. They end up engaged in a staring contest.

Azula tilts her head slightly to the side, feeling strands of hair ruffle in the cold wind. Zuko tilts his head in the same direction, raising an eyebrow.

Contrary to popular belief, Azula can be easy to read if she wants to be. Considering that all Zuko has been doing for the past _three hours_ is stare at her with all of his thoughts written right over his face for the entire world to see _(pity pity pity pity pity pity--),_ Azula is simply returning the favor.

 _Stop that,_ Azula says with her eyes.

 _Stop what?_ challenges Zuko, eyebrow raising higher.

Azula lets her lip curl. _Being an idiot._

Zuko narrows his eyes. Azula smirks.

In the corner of her eye, Azula sees Mai and the waterbender exchange similarly exasperated looks.

Azula may or may not have forgotten the waterbender’s name.

They fly over a river, weaving through a few mountains, and Azula watches the land whizz by with a distinctly unimpressed expression. She might’ve once been taken by the sights below her, novel and breathtaking from the altitude that she’s at, especially given the lack of walls around her, but her head hurts.

Her head hurts a _lot,_ actually, and it’s not unlike how she felt in the institution, actually, back when she was coming out of drug-induced fogs.

The sun is setting.

Azula feels like she’s waiting for something. She isn’t quite sure what it is.

She stays seated, but she shifts slightly, letting herself tense a little. She didn’t conquer Ba Sing Se at fourteen years old for nothing, after all.

“I think that’s Hira’a up ahead,” says Zuko, eyes scanning the landscape. “If we can’t get there before sunset, we should set up camp. I don’t want to enter town in the middle of the night like a gang of bandits.”

“That’s what we did with the other town, Zuzu,” Azula says, leaning back to feign nonchalance, but her eyes are darting around her. She’s still not sure what’s caught her attention. “Unless you’re planning on using those hoods again. Those were remarkably effective.”

“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” says the Water T-- says Sokka.

“She is,” Mai says, dull.

Azula scans over the passengers in the saddle. All of her instincts are shouting at her to _do something,_ but nothing seems particularly out of the ordinary. Everyone seems satisfied with Zuko’s decision, everyone but--

The Avatar is sitting with his head bent, legs crossed, hands on his knees. This would be fine with anyone else in the saddle, but this child has proved to be remarkably hyper-active.

“Avatar,” says Azula sweetly. “Is there something wrong?”

The Avatar looks up, and Azula feels all of her instincts simultaneously _scream._

“Ah!” Sokka shrieks, flailing. He stares at Aang, indignant. “What, it’s not enough that we have _one_ passenger with crazy eyes?”

“Sokka!” the waterbender scolds.

“What is wrong with your face?” Mai asks, staring. “You look awful.”

“He looks fine to me,” says Toph cheerfully.

The Avatar’s face is screwed up into a grotesque frown, one that Azula mentally compares to some of the masks she’s seen at various Fire Nation festivals. It’s an oddly mesmerizing sight, his normally soft, young features twisted up and narrowed into something sharper and distinctly angrier. It isn’t an expression that Azula has ever seen him wear before.

It is also a little funny.

“I don’t know,” says Aang, and his voice comes out all confused and innocent. It momentarily throws Azula for a loop, considering the downright murderous expression on his face. “I can’t help it! There’s something out there; some kind of-- of _spirit._ I can feel its presence, especially in my face.”

Before anyone can respond to that, the Avatar peers over the side of the saddle. He gasps, whipping back around with a more normal look on his face, eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

“There’s a giant wolf spirit down there,” he says, awed, because of course he does.

Azula kind of wants to jump off of the bison.

A thought occurs to her.

“Does it look like this?” asks Sokka, pulling at his mouth and bulging his eyes out. He’s met with a slap of snow in the face, the waterbender glaring above him with her hands on her hips.

Azula can see this going one of two ways. They either ignore the wolf, moving on to Hira’a with no interruptions, or the Avatar insists on following the spirit because of Avatar related reasons.

Given the track record for this particular gang, Azula is leaning towards the latter.

She makes a choice.

Azula springs to her feet, cracking her knuckles and rolling her neck as she strides to the edge of the saddle. She sways slightly in the wind and with the bison’s movements below her, but she hardly notices. Her head throbs painfully, and the winter air bites horribly at her exposed face, but she stays standing.

“There’s nothing down there,” Mai says, and even despite the monotonous tone, the bewilderment is clear. Azula steps up on the edge of the saddle carelessly, wind whipping at her cheeks, the cold overwhelming any and every other sense her body registers.

“Azula!” shouts Zuko, quite abruptly, and the Water Tribe siblings immediately go silent. “What are you _doing?_ Get down from there!”

Azula tips her head back, spreading her arms wide. She smiles broadly.

“I can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s been,” she drawls, relishing in the attention Zuko’s little gang has bestowed upon her. Her head is racing, anticipating the drop below, and she knows, she _knows_ that the probability of her surviving the fall is low, if there is any chance at all. She’s betting on one thing. “It is _such_ a shame that not all siblings can get along as well as Zuzu and me. Now that Hira’a is just a hop, skip, and a jump away, it’s time to bid farewell.”

She meets Zuko’s horrified gaze, feeling her smile widen. It’s perhaps the most honest smile she’s given throughout this entire trip. Perhaps in her life.

“I’ll be sure you give her your regards,” she says, just for Zuko. She watches the pieces click in his head, and she’s not entirely sure which conclusion he’s reaching, but she doesn’t stay to find out.

She lifts one foot off of the edge of the saddle and _drops._

Someone above is shouting, perhaps several someones, but the wind roaring in her ears is deafening, drowning out anything distinct. It’s just her, the wind, the ground rushing nearer and nearer until she’s much closer than she had hoped to get, and Azula didn’t _intend_ on dying today, but it’s not exactly a disappointment if she does. She’ll find out about Mother either way.

But the Avatar’s weakness serves her once more.

She’s caught with one arm around the waist, the air knocked out of her with the force of how quickly her fall was stopped. Above, Aang is gripping his glider, jaw clenched with the effort of keeping the two of them in the air.

“I got her!” he shouts, tilting his head back up. Azula glances down at the ground, judging the remaining distance.

She smirks.

“Nice glider, Avatar,” she says smoothly. “Is it fireproof?”

Just like Zuko had moments before she burned her way through her straitjacket, she feels the Avatar freeze. Azula takes the opportunity to blast a hole in the blue fabric of his glider, and the two of them swerve violently.

“What are you _doing?”_ shouts Aang, more panicked and angered than Azula has ever heard him. It’s refreshing. “This was a gift!”

Azula shoves him aside with another blast of fire, covering the remaining distance to the ground easily and without bodily harm. That went much better than she expected it to.

She takes off running. Behind her, she hears the Avatar crash to the ground and the bison land with a soft _whump_ after him.

“Aang!” shouts the waterbender, rushing to his side. Zuko shouts something, too, but Azula is already sprinting off, going faster and faster and _faster and faster and faster and--_

“Azula!” Zuko yells, but his voice is faint, and Azula’s head is pounding even _more,_ and she didn’t even know that that was possible, but the world has narrowed down to just the wind on her face, boots pounding on the ground, legs burning and chest heaving as she runs, runs, runs.

When was the last time she felt like this? Free, untethered, her mind clearer than it’s been in days, just pure adrenaline rushing through her veins as her heart pumps blood. It’s almost like her little false escape stunts at the prison, only this is hundreds of times more freeing, with fresh air and open skies, cold wind that bites.

“You’re only hurting yourself, my daughter.”

Azula stops running so quickly that she almost falls headfirst into the creek she was about to jump over.

Mother’s reflection is in the creek, distorted by the rushing water. She looks-- the same, she looks the same, and if Azula doesn’t concentrate, it almost looks like she’s looking at herself instead of Mother. Azula turns around quickly, eyeing the area around her suspiciously, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

She’s just in the water, where Azula’s reflection would be.

“Don’t pretend to care about me,” snarls Azula. Her breathing picks up as she slashes a hand through the air, arms trembling. “You thought you could break me, didn’t you, by having Zuko lock me up in that institution?”

“Azula--”

“But I’m stronger than you realize, Mother!” Azula shouts over her. “I’ve figured it out; you’ve been conspiring to take me down from my birth, hungry for the power that you could never have! That’s why you think I’m a monster, isn’t it? My power makes you fear me!”

Her throat hurts like she’s been laughing again, raw and hoarse and horrible. She gasps for breath, running her tongue along the edge of her teeth, agitated.

“No,” says Mother softly. “You’re confused.”

Azula scoffs, turning around quickly and pressing both hands to her pounding, throbbing head. “I still haven’t figured out the details,” she hisses, because now that the words are coming out, she can’t stop herself. “How did you contact Zuko, Ty Lee, and Mai after you disappeared? How did you tell that waterbender how to defeat me?”

The letter, the letter in her boot, digs into her leg, and Azula whips it out. She thrusts it at Mother’s reflection, lip curling.

“But you’ve failed in one aspect,” she says vehemently. “Father was never so weak to succumb to your words. I have evidence, _hard evidence,_ to take the throne away from Zuko. But I can’t become the Fire Lord with you-- you constantly conspiring to undo me!”

Azula shoves the letter back where it was. “That’s why I’m going to find you,” she says, deadly and shaking and wild, “and put an end to this. Once and for all.”

Mother can take that as she will.

“I love you, Azula,” Mother says quietly, like she wasn’t listening at all, because she never, ever listens, no one ever does, and Azula _screams,_ digging trembling hands into her hair and clenching hard. She whips back around, sending a roar of fire towards the water.

She’s so, so _angry._ She wonders if this is how Zuzu felt during his banishment, raging and tumultuous and constantly burning, burning, burning, even after she was frozen during that Agni Kai, because while Zuko was lit on fire, Azula went cold. She still remembers how that felt, lungs straining for air, her skin on fire in a way that firebenders should never have to feel, and she wonders if Zuko remembers how he felt, too, or if he blacked out in the middle. He passed out, afterwards.

He’s lucky, in that sense. He didn’t have to feel in the immediate aftermath.

“This is your most treacherous act, Mother,” Azula shouts, voice breaking. “You’ve turned my own-- my own mind against me!”

She tries, she _tries_ to summon lightning. But just as she’s pointing it, Zuko comes stumbling over on the other side of the creek, and it’s-- it’s an unexplainably familiar sight, it’s _so familiar,_ and she--

“Who are you talking to?” Zuko shouts, winded, and Azula--

She drops her hands. No lightning emerges.

She doesn’t know if anything would come out, anyways, if she tried.

“Why do you care?” she snarls, head jerking up to look at him.

“Keep to our deal,” Zuko says, taking a cautious step forward, “and we’ll find her. _Together.”_

“You’re a fool,” says Azula, and she almost sounds just like her old self. “You need me, Zuzu, but I’ve found that I don’t quite need you anymore.”

She shifts into a fighting stance, hands held in front of her. Zuko’s hands come up immediately, defensive.

“Please,” he says softly. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I think you’ll find that there’s quite a bit that I need to do,” Azula retorts. She takes a step forward, heat gathering in her fists as she reels one back to blast fire in his direction--

There’s a rustle. Feet pounding on the ground. Then:

“Out of the way, Zuko!”

Something _slams_ into Azula, cold and hard and unforgiving, and squeezes tightly around her, binding her arms to her side.

Ice.

“Katara!” someone shouts, and it sounds like the Avatar. Azula stumbles backwards, landing hard on her side from the force of the waterbender’s ice hitting her. Her lip curls as the waterbender approaches her, shouting at her about something that she really could care less about, and her features twist at the realization that she’s on the ground before a _peasant,_ bound and floored and disgraced.

“Of all the co-conspirators she could’ve chosen,” Azula snarls, mostly to herself, but it’s loud enough, angry enough, that it cuts over whatever the waterbender is yelling about, “why an uncultured--”

“Would you shut up for one second?” snaps Toph, storming over to stand beside the waterbender in front of Azula. She jerks a finger at Azula. “You don’t just go jumping off of sky bison _hundreds of feet in the air--”_

Azula _growls._ “I don’t take orders from people like you,” she sneers. “You’re worse than the peasants, you know that? You’re as disgraced as I am, dishonorable for leaving noble life, abandoning your family--”

“Like you’re any better!” Mai shouts, and now she’s here, too, because it’s apparently just become _everyone scream at Azula_ time. “Have you already forgotten what happened to you? Are you really that--”

Azula throws her head back, laughing wildly, something absolutely horrible to listen to. She doesn’t need to see the looks of horror on their faces to know that they’re there. “You really think I could’ve forgotten so easily? I am many things, Mai, but I never forget a slight upon my--”

Azula breaks off. Her jaw drops. Any and all words that had been on her tongue vanish immediately, forgotten to the icy cold winds.

There is a wolf.

There is definitely a wolf.

Aang was right about the wolf.

The Avatar’s description of the creature as a _giant wolf spirit_ doesn’t quite begin to cover the sheer size of it. It’s huge, blue and white, probably well over twelve feet tall, a shimmering blue haze radiating from it. On the front of the wolf’s fur, outlined in blue on the white, is what appears to be a face, the eyes almost reminiscent of the expression that the Avatar had been making before.

“Um,” says Aang, eyes wide. “Hello, Mr. Wolf Spirit?”

For a moment, both parties stare at each other. No one moves, not that Azula could if she wanted to.

Then, the wolf lunges.

And chaos breaks loose.

“Ah!” shrieks Sokka, tumbling out of the way just in time. “What the heck? Why is it attacking us?”

“The spirit probably left the spirit world for a good reason,” Aang calls out. “Everyone, please be respectful!”

“Respectful?” Mai asks incredulously, already whipping out her knives.

“Your spirit just tried to bite my head off, Twinkletoes!”

“Those markings on its belly,” Zuko murmurs, staring. “They… almost look like a face.”

Azula lets her head thud back on the ground, barely suppressing a scream of frustration. She watches, completely immobile, as the Avatar jumps up, wielding his closed glider like a weapon as he approaches the wolf.

“Stop! Aang shouts, flying into the air. He’s still wearing that ridiculous expression on his face. “I felt your presence earlier! I’m feeling it now, too, look! Just like the markings on your fur. I’m the Avatar; my friends and I were traveling to Hira’a when…”

There’s a moment’s pause in which the Avatar hesitates, seemingly at a loss for words.

“When one of our friends decided to go her own way,” he decides, and Azula feels her lip curl. _Friends._ “If we’ve disturbed you, please accept our apologies.”

Everyone stares at the wolf. It’s incredibly awkward.

A beat of silence. Then two. Then--

The wolf lunges forward, snapping at the Avatar, who flies backwards with a yell of alarm. The wolf echoes it with a growl loud enough to shake the trees.

Azula yawns.

“Your strategy doesn’t seem to be working, Aang!” Zuko says at a rather impressive volume considering how tightly his teeth are gritted. “Any other ideas?”

“Attack,” Mai says, somehow managing to make the word sound as dull as the clouds beginning to hide the setting sun.

Azula proceeds to tune out of the battle, rolling her eyes with every mishap and rolling her eyes harder with every blow that hits. She could end this all in just two seconds, she thinks, watching Zuko’s fire barely singe the wolf’s fur and Toph’s bending not even making it stumble. The sky bison jumps in at one point, roaring to the Avatar’s defense, but that has essentially no effect on the situation.

And then, the wolf vomits a bunch of glowing purple moth-wasps.

Azula has never seen anything like it in her life.

“What?” yelps the Avatar.

“You,” Sokka says, practically fuming as he stumbles to his feet, “are the _grossest_ spirit ever!”

The spirits are practically a cloud descended to the earth, glowing pink-purple and swarming the Avatar and his friends like some kind of carnivorous creature of its own. They’re like fireworks, bright and colorful and burning, like the sparklers that they give out at Fire Nation festivals to the children that wander the streets.

Azula physically cannot take it anymore.

“Free me, Zuzu,” she calls out, fixing a glare on Zuko. “I’ll take care of those spirits for you.”

Zuko’s eyes narrow slightly. “We’ll be fine, Azula,” he says a bit testily, and Azula doesn’t exactly _blame_ him for being relatively distrusting of her at the moment, but really.

“Oh, of course,” says Azula graciously. She jerks her head to the side, where the waterbender and her brother look like they’re getting eaten alive. “Because you and your friends have everything completely under control.”

She gives Zuko a charming smile. “I’ll admit it, alright?” she says. “I shouldn’t have run off on my own like that. After all, we made a _deal.”_

Zuko doesn’t waver.

“You’re my brother, Zuzu,” Azula drawls. “You really think that I’ll let you perish here?”

The two look at each other for a long, tense moment.

Zuko, expression unchanged, punches fire at her. The ice melts away.

Azula stands up without hesitation, taking in the situation. She cracks her knuckles, stretches her arms, and takes a deep breath.

_Okay._

She has to know.

Just like before, just like in that prison cell all of those months ago, Azula shifts into the correct stance after her failure. She drags her hand through the air, feeling the air crackle around her fingertips as sparks begin to form.

Azula smiles.

She thrusts out, electricity slicing through the spirits in a burst of energy, bright blue driving purple away as she moves, moves like she hasn’t moved in months. She falls into the correct stances like she never stopped doing them, the movements coming to her as easily as breathing. The wolf’s attention is caught by the moth-wasps being driven away, and both spirits flee the scene.

In just a few heartbeats, Azula’s hands still smoking, the land is empty.

This is how it should be.

She has never felt more alive.

“Oh, Tui and La,” murmurs the waterbender under her breath, breaking Azula out of her trance. The tone is familiar, laced with the apprehension and fear that she’s used to hearing, and it’s _wonderful._ Azula turns around, hands held at her sides, smirking.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

No one thanks her.

Cowards.

\---

“Zuko?”

Sokka’s approaching on the other side of the campfire, smiling a little. Zuko feels himself relax, nodding in greeting as he takes a seat on the other side of the fire.

“Hi,” says Zuko. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Feels like I should be asking you that,” says Sokka.

They somehow got the campsite set up with little to no brushes with death. Azula outright refused to take a sleeping bag, but no one was particularly broken up about it other than Zuko, and the argument that ensued took no longer than ten seconds before Toph broke it up by threatening to earthbend Zuko to a tree. Azula was inordinately pleased about this.

That was the only major incident, surprisingly, and now most of the others are asleep. Katara and Aang are curled up on Appa together, Toph laying by Appa’s paws, Azula beneath one of the trees, shivering in the cold, huddled into a ball.

Mai was sitting with Zuko earlier. She’s just a lump underneath a blanket, now, a clearly defined empty space beside her. It’s odd in a pleasant way to think that it’s reserved for him.

“How are you doing?” Sokka asks abruptly, and it’s said with an unusual amount of hesitation, uncharacteristic for his nature. Zuko looks up to find him worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I mean, obviously, not great, because who would be, but given the circumstances, I mean.”

“I’m…” Zuko trails off. “I’m as good as I can be, I think. I’m better than I was in the palace, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s exactly what I was asking,” says Sokka, relieved. “We never actually got to have that intervention, you know. Has Mai talked to you yet?”

“No.”

“Stay on guard. It’s coming.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Zuko dryly.

They sit in silence for a bit. It’s nice.

“Roku’s my great-grandfather, you know,” says Zuko after a moment. It’s very out of the blue, and he doesn’t blame Sokka for looking at him in confusion. “I guess that makes Aang my… something. I don’t know. Uncle brought that up when I was back at the palace before I purposefully committed treason, I guess to try and steer me towards the right path? And it worked, I guess, since I was so obsessed with destiny. But now all I can think about is the fact that Azula is Roku’s, too.”

He’s not quite sure why he’s saying this all of a sudden, but it feels right.

“Tui and La,” says Sokka. “You’re Roku and Sozin’s love children.”

Zuko wrinkles his nose. “You don’t have to say it like _that.”_

“What else am I supposed to get from _Roku is my great-grandfather?_ You can’t expect me to not say that.”

There’s another pause.

“Can I…” Sokka presses his lips together, frowning. He’s staring into the fire, flames reflecting in his blue eyes, almost black in the darkness. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says. “You’re not allowed to make jokes. That’s my job.”

“Uh huh. What were you going to say?”

This pause goes on for long enough that Zuko’s about to let it go, but then:

“She’s different,” says Sokka at last, barely loud enough to be heard over the gentle crackling of the fire. “Azula, I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that before. I’ve always wanted to see her get what she deserved, but I never-- not like this. _Never_ like this.”

“I know,” says Zuko quietly.

“And I just--” Sokka breaks off, tilting his head as he frowns, thinking. “No, that’s not right. But I’m just… I think it’s cool of you, what you’re doing for her. Not to bring in the honor card, but it really is honorable of you to be stepping up like this.”

“She’s my sister.”

“I know,” Sokka says quickly. “I know. But… I mean, I’ve got Katara, right? And we bicker, we argue, we fight, but she’s easy to… I don’t want to say _take care of,_ because let’s be real, she’d probably kill me if she heard me say that, but she’s easy to love. And I’m not going to pretend to know the full extent of your relationship with Azula, especially given… you know. What happened at the Agni Kai.”

There’s a slightly awkward pause. Zuko’s gaze wanders over to where Azula lies beneath the tree, still shivering.

A hand, maybe subconsciously, finds the center of his chest, where the star-shaped burn from the lightning blast is branded into him. Zuko presses down.

“She’s my sister,” repeats Zuko, and it really seems like that’s all he’s ever been saying. “She’s not-- she’s not just Ozai’s kid, just like how I’m not just his kid. She’s our mom’s, too, and she’s my sister. We’re family. She’s done some really fucked up stuff, but I’d be worse than anything she ever was if I abandoned her completely.”

Zuko looks into the fire. “Sometimes,” he says, and he has to swallow to clear his throat a little, “I worry that I’m just doing this out of guilt. All of this. All of the negotiations, the treaties, the reparations, everything I’m doing for Azula… I’m scared that my only motivation is to clear my own conscience, to clear the _Fire Nation’s_ conscience. I don’t deserve to sleep in a bed while thousands of people are still suffering the effects of a selfish war, while Azula--”

Zuko breaks off, failing to reign in his expression in time. He thinks he must look desperate, lips twisted, eyebrows knitted. He sighs, rubbing his forehead absent-mindedly.

“Point is,” he says wryly, looking back up to meet Sokka’s gaze, “I’m not going to stop loving her just because it’s the easy thing to do. But I-- I do worry about where we’re going to go from here.”

It’s the same question that he’s been asking himself since he took the throne: do his motivations matter if the end result is the same? Does it matter that he took advice from Ozai if his ministers are finally listening to him? Does it matter if he’s motivated by guilt or love if Azula might be helped, if the world will be healed?

More and more, he’s thinking that it does matter. And it’s tearing him apart.

“You’re an idiot,” Sokka informs him, and it’s such a contrast to the heavy atmosphere that it startles a small laugh out of Zuko. “No, I’m serious. Ever since we talked all of those months ago, when you first brought up visiting Azula, I’ve been thinking about this. And, Zuko? I don’t think that everything you’re doing can be explained away by a need to clear the guilt you’re feeling. You’re a genuinely good person. I know you don’t believe that,” he says quickly, holding up his hands when Zuko opens his mouth, “but I do. _We_ do. Azula isn’t someone who should be taken lightly, so you shouldn’t be explaining your reasons behind helping her so lightly, either.”

“I know,” says Zuko softly. He reaches a hand into the fire, pulling out a small, charred twig to fiddle with. Ashes crumble in his pale palm. “I’m not trying to-- to infantilize her or anything. Spirits know she would kill me if I tried that.”

“Literally,” says Sokka, and Zuko smiles. “Keep talking. I’m not going anywhere.”

Zuko brushes his hands, the ashes falling away, leaving his skin slightly smudged. “I guess I’m just… worried,” he admits, quiet, like it’s something shameful. “About what happens after this. Where do we even _go_ from here? If I really am motivated by guilt, will my guilt for the actions of my ancestors take priority over my guilt over Azula? Or, if not, will my love for my nation prevail over her? Because I can’t just-- Fuck, Sokka, I can’t just ignore everything she’s done. I have to address it somehow, because people don’t _understand,_ they don’t _get_ that she’s-- she’s just as hurt as the rest of us. She’s fourteen, Sokka. She’s fourteen. And I _left_ her in the palace with Ozai, completely alone.”

“You didn’t have a choice in that,” Sokka says immediately. He sighs. “I don’t-- Obviously, I don’t know the full story of your banishment. And I’m not going to make you tell me, so relax. That’s your story to tell, and I’m not going to push. But what I do know is that you shouldn’t be blaming yourself for something that you had no control over.”

“But I could’ve--”

“You could’ve what?” Sokka asks, tilting his head. “You could’ve stayed, yeah, and would’ve gotten killed for defying the will of the Fire Lord. Your uncle could’ve stayed, and you probably would’ve died at sea.”

“I--”

“Shut up for two seconds and let me end your spiral.”

Zuko smirks a little. “You sound like Mai.”

“That is a compliment of the highest degree, and I’ll take it,” says Sokka, nodding. “But, seriously. You keep talking about how Azula is fourteen, and you’re completely right that she’s way too young to have gone through everything that she has. But you’re a kid, too, Zuko. You can’t expect to put all of the blame and fault on yourself when you’re… when what you’re doing is probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for her.”

“Not a kid,” protests Zuko. Sokka raises an eyebrow at him.

“Now I know why Dad always laughs at me when I say that,” he says. He rolls his eyes. “We’re all young. We’re not adults, so we’re children. That’s how it works, Zuko. Being forced to grow up doesn’t change our actual ages. We were - _are_ \- just kids, dealing with the aftermath of a war, and I still can’t understand why no one stepped up to do what we did. Why did we have to do all of this? Why did Azula have to conquer Ba Sing Se for Ozai? Why do you have to run an entire nation on your own? Why is Aang responsible for repairing a world he wasn’t even around to live in when it collapsed?”

There’s a brief pause. Sokka leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “There’s no good answer to any of that,” he says. “You’ll kill yourself before you figure out how to answer any of those questions. We’ve just got to look ahead and move on.”

For a moment, there's silence. A branch collapses in the campfire, causing a burst of sparks to fly into the air like stardust, and Zuko sticks a hand into the golden embers to prod at the twigs. Sokka shudders.

“Dude,” he says. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“What?” asks Zuko, blinking as he looks up. “I’m a firebender. I’m not going to _die.”_

“I keep thinking that you’re going to burn yourself,” Sokka says, shaking his head. Then he narrows his eyes. “Don’t you dare make the joke I know you’re thinking about. Trauma jokes are funny only for the person who experienced the trauma. It makes everyone else very, very uncomfortable.”

“Sorry,” says Zuko, only a little bit sorry. “Azula’s worse than I am. You’ll see eventually.”

“Sorry, was it not already bad?”

Zuko smiles, and Sokka laughs a little.

“Thank you,” Zuko says. “For… this. All of this. The conversation, yeah, but also coming with me. I know it can’t have been easy to drop everything for a search that might not even yield any results.”

“We’re friends,” says Sokka. “Of course I was going to come. And, besides, it’s not like Toph and I were doing anything particularly productive traveling with Aang.”

“Oh, I see,” Zuko says, eyebrows raising. “I’m the second choice.”

“Eh,” Sokka shrugs. “More like the third. The Northern Water Tribe didn’t work out, remember?”

Zuko narrows his eyes playfully, and Sokka responds by making a face.

They talk for a few more minutes after that. Sokka goes to bed once the flames start to die out, but Zuko finds himself growing more and more restless for some inexplicable reason. His eyes wander back over to Azula, murmuring in her sleep and continuing to shiver.

His gaze falls on the blanket that Sokka left on the other side of the fire, then drifts over to where Sokka has settled beside Katara. He’s somehow asleep already, arm draped over Katara’s legs with his foot resting against Aang’s back. It’s a warming sight.

He looks back at Azula.

Maybe it’s not guilt, after all.

Slowly getting to his feet, careful so that his movements don’t disturb anyone, he picks up the blanket and walks over to Azula. He drapes it over her body, wrapping it around her shoulders, and bends down to tug it over her legs. She looks painfully young like this, like the fourteen year old she actually is, not Ozai’s right-hand, the person to take down Ba Sing Se, the first person in centuries to bear blue fire. She could be any girl in the Fire Nation, lying here, asleep on the forest floor, and Zuko knows she would hate it if he said that to her, but he thinks it’s nice.

And that’s when he sees it.

The edge of a letter, crinkled and worn, slightly yellowed with age, sticking out of the top of her boot. Zuko glances over to Azula, feeling his pulse begin to pick up, then back down at the letter. She must’ve taken the letter from that chest in the room.

Slowly, he pulls it out from where it’s tucked firmly, and opens it up.

It’s probably not the best decision he’s ever made.

He recognizes his mother’s handwriting instantly, smooth and flowing, sharp edges softened with the passage of time. It takes him a moment to place the characters at the top of the page, but when he does, he feels his heart drop into his stomach.

_Ikem._

Zuko cuts his eyes to Azula, still fast asleep, then back to the letter.

_My dearest Ikem,_

_I know that it’s only been a few days since my last letter. Perhaps my eagerness to write comes from the fact that you cannot respond. Or will not - I would not blame you either way._

_Palace life is both extraordinarily dull and hopelessly stressful at the same time, as usual. I know I always talk about this in my letters to you, but I cannot even begin to describe the amount of dancing that is required in every conversation. Have you noticed the progression in my letters? I never used to write like this, never used to be able to write so eloquently. I’m sure if you’ll recall my experience in our language classes at the school in our village, the difference will be that much more amusing._

_I’ve gotten away from myself again. I’ll get straight to the point - I’ve really never been one for skirting topics, as you know. Yet another thing this place has stolen from me. I feel myself disappearing with each passing day. I do not know if you would recognize me anymore._

_I might as well cut right to it._

_I miss you, Ikem. I miss you more than the moon needs the sun to glow in the night sky. I think of you every single time I wake, every time I fall asleep. You were right, all of those years ago. I belong with you. Nothing is worth this pain. It feels as though I’ve left a part of myself-- no, no, that’s not right. It feels as though I’ve torn a piece of myself out of my chest, ragged and bloodied, and thrown it aside for a cold, metal_ thing _to replace it._

_My one, singular consolation is our son, Zuko. Ikem, his eyes are just like yours; fiery gold and passionate, bright with love and kindness. I miss you terribly. Our son is the only thing keeping me going._

_I love you, Ikem. I will never stop loving you. I never have._

_Yours,_

_Ursa_

And the world falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what lmao i hate writing action-based plot. in case you couldn't tell by how stilted the actions scenes are. not my best work tbh.
> 
> i really couldn't hold out with just plot for even one chapter. i *had* to put the sokka-zuko conversation in here. i am incapable of writing anything without at least some form of introspection, apparently.
> 
> leave a comment and lmk what you thought!! so sorry again about the wait. i'm kind of not able to process the fact that it's already march? how--
> 
> anyways. hope you enjoyed <3
> 
> come chat with me on [tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) !!

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/) <3


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